WaT The Cost
by Mariel3
Summary: Jack's past comes back to haunt him. JS
1. Default Chapter

Okay, guys, let's play good news/bad news. It looks like this story is going to be a long one. That's the bad news. The good news is that the chapters are really short! This is more a novel sort of thing, though I kinda keep to the pace of a television episode as best I can and try not to go into too much descriptive stuff so that things move a little faster. I will try to post a minimum of two chapters a week, more if my life goes well.  
  
Disclaimer: Spaulding, and the WaT characters do not belong to me.  
  
The Cost by: Mariel  
  
Chapter 1  
  
The house was empty when he got home. Even before he noticed the note set on the kitchen table, propped up against the bowl of shiny wooden fruit he and Maria had bought in Mexico four months before Kate had been born, he'd known Maria had gone to her mother's. Kate and Hannah were there already, and his wife had said she wanted to visit for a few days before bringing the girls back on Sunday. That was three days from now.  
  
His shoulders uncharacteristically slumped, he walked slowly across the floor and picked the note up. There was a meal for him, it said, in the refrigerator. She hoped his day had got better. She'd see him on Sunday.  
  
He closed his eyes in disappointment. He'd hoped his phone call had changed her mind, but... He crumpled the note up slowly in his hand. He wasn't hungry. His day had not get better, and Sunday seemed an eternity away.  
  
Opening his eyes, he stood in the middle of his wife's spotless kitchen and found himself staring at the telephone. Mindlessly, he walked towards it, dialled a number emblazoned in his memory, and waited.  
  
She answered on the third ring.  
  
"Did I wake you?" he asked.  
  
"Jack, it's only seven o'clock. I was cleaning."  
  
He knew what that meant. He paused, saying nothing.  
  
"Jack? Are you okay?"  
  
Her words disturbed his thoughts. "No," he answered truthfully, "I don't think so."  
  
As he knew she would, she asked, "Can I do anything?"  
  
"Are you busy?"  
  
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then "Do you want to come over?"  
  
He did. With every fibre of his being. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk, wasn't sure, even, that he was fit for company, but he didn't want to be alone, not now, not tonight, not after today...  
  
"Yeah," he said. But there was their complicated past and present to consider, so he asked, "Are you okay with that?"  
  
Another pause, then she replied, "I think the question is, will you be?"  
  
Reason told him that in the long run, probably not.  
  
"Yeah," he told her.  
  
Yet another pause. "Jack, where are you phoning from?"  
  
"Home."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"No one's here," he explained needlessly.  
  
"I'll see you when you get here, then," she said gently. "The door'll be open.  
  
She always left the door open for him.  
  
"I want to change, first. Maybe shower..." he said, loosening his tie and thinking he needed to do both.  
  
"I'll be here."  
  
He put the receiver down. Turning slowly, he walked through the kitchen, turning the light out as he left. If he had been thinking such thoughts - if he'd been capable at that moment of thinking at all - he'd have questioned the wisdom of seeking the company of the woman he had reluctantly ended an affair with a few months before. Slowly trodding the stairs up to his bedroom, however, he was too tired and too disturbed to question where he sought solace. This week, his past mistakes had come back to haunt him.  
  
Nothing he did could make what was happening in his life any worse.  
  
End Chapter 1 


	2. The Cost chapter 2

The Cost Chapter 2  
  
Samantha hung up the phone and resumed scrubbing the kitchen floor on her hands and knees. She had friends who partied when things were bad, knew others who drank 'til they could forget, and still others who sought tears or solitude. Early in her career, she'd tried them all, and more. She'd found two things worked: cleaning, and the same therapy Jack sought tonight: quiet company with someone trusted.  
  
After moving to New York, and until her affair with Jack had begun, she had stuck to cleaning. Now, their affair over and with no one she felt able to confide in, she had taken up cleaning once again.  
  
Her apartment had never looked better.  
  
She paused to wipe hair out of her face, unsure of how she felt about Jack coming over.  
  
Wringing her cloth out into the bucket, she shook her head at the lie. She knew damned well how she felt. Better, she knew, to ask herself what she thought.  
  
As she continued to wipe the floor, she decided she thought Jack coming here was a mistake; perhaps they should have agreed to meet somewhere else. The Malones had turned back the clock once and started over; it wasn't likely they could manage it again. If Maria found out he had come here...  
  
A quick, surprising surge of anger coursed through her. And where the hell was his wife, anyway? What in God's name was she thinking, leaving him alone? Didn't the woman know what he'd been putting himself though this past week? Didn't she-  
  
Samantha threw the cloth into the red plastic bucket and rose. She had no bloody right to be angry with Maria. She didn't know what happened when Jack went home, didn't know what it was like when Jack wasn't there. She knew, she decided, absolutely nothing about anything.  
  
Except about Jack.  
  
Maria should have been there for him. He needed her. It wasn't too much to ask. So where the hell was she?  
  
Pouring the soapy water out of the bucket and into the sink, she tried to squash a feeling of thankfulness that Maria was not where she should have been. Tonight, she needed company, too. Tonight, having him here would take the edge off today's grisly discovery and help take the edge off the week's downward spiral.  
  
End chapter 2 


	3. Chapters 3 and 4

Okay. So here you're getting the hint of which case this is a continuation of. Thank you for the kind reviews here and on Maple Street - it's nice to know someone's reading!  
  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, but the story is.  
  
The Cost Chapter 3  
  
Jack stepped out of the shower, dried off, and wrapped the damp towel around his waist. Wanting all the day scraped away, he rubbed his chin and decided to shave as well.  
  
As he worked the blade over his cheeks, all the worst parts of the past week scrolled though his mind in vivid images that stoked his guilt until it burned hot in his gut.  
  
A teenage boy reported missing on Monday had been found mutilated and dead on Tuesday. Bad, but part of the job; something out of his control. But there had been more: a more that had made his heart stop, a more that had dredged up doubts and regrets he had thought finally buried. Included in the mutilation of the teen's body was the number fifteen, crudely carved into the boy's chest.  
  
Jack had stood over the body and stared, a shiver of eerie recognition running down his spine.  
  
"Now what do you think that's supposed to mean?" a middle-aged policeman had asked, pointing with a stubby finger towards the number.  
  
Jack knew what it meant. By some gigantic, horrific jump of intuition, he knew exactly what it meant. *Payback time,* he had wanted to say, guilt building hot inside him.  
  
On Wednesday, there had been another teenaged boy reported missing. Before their investigation had even hit its stride, a twelve year old girl walking the family dog before going to bed found a body dumped in an empty lot. This time, the tortured, nude body had a large number fifteen followed by a '+' sign savagely cut into its front.  
  
An attractive blond police officer had shaken her head and asked, "Why would someone do something like that?" The plus sign was cut so deep some of the boy's intestines gleamed in the flashlight she held.  
  
*Retribution*, Jack had wanted to say, refusing to avert his eyes until the body had been placed on a gurney and then into an ambulance. In spite of Samantha's questioning look, he'd stood watching until the vehicle turned a corner and went out of sight.  
  
It had been the second death he had caused that week.  
  
He had known there would be more.  
  
Jack put his razor away. His face now smooth, he looked into the steamy mirror, avoiding his eyes. They held too much guilt: not for where he was about to go or who he was about to see, but for what he had done that he couldn't undo.  
  
End Chapter 3  
  
The Cost Chapter 4  
  
She tied her blond hair back, untied it to leave it down, then tied it back again. Jack liked it any way she wore it - and why did it matter, anyway? How she looked didn't matter. She didn't think it ever had to him, though he'd told her he thought her beautiful. Still, she had done her hair and dressed in black because she knew he thought she looked good in that colour.  
  
Shaking her head at her foolishness, she decided to busy herself by going around her apartment and lighting her candles. When she turned down the electric lights, she stood back, pleased with the results: the candles filled the air with a warm, calming glow she knew would be soothing.  
  
Entering the bathroom, she lit a small, scented lantern she kept on the counter. On impulse, she reached over and turned the light switch off. Looking at her suddenly golden reflection, she realised that tonight she was acting - and felt - more like 'the other woman' than she ever had during their affair.  
  
She paused thoughtfully, thinking it was probably because tonight she was more conscious of his wife than she ever had been before. Tonight, she had come to hate someone she had spared little thought about previously. The hate was a new emotion for her. During her affair with Jack, she had felt it unfortunate Maria existed, but had regretted the existence of the Bureau rule about sexual relationships with those under your direct supervision more. The rule, not Jack's wife, had caused her the most concern. Her relationship with Jack had seemed somehow separate from Maria, as though his wife were part of a different reality that had little bearing on what she and Jack did.  
  
It had been a naive and selfish way of looking at things, she knew. Maria may have had her own life, her girls, and a career that kept her busy, but Jack was very much on her agenda as well.  
  
As, of course, he should have been.  
  
So where the hell was she now, when she had to know how important it was that she be home for him when he got there?  
  
Again, she wondered at how little the woman seemed to understand the psychological toll of what Jack did for a living took on him.  
  
And these past months had been costly. The Graham Spaulding trial, the investigation into Samir Anwar's death, and the fact that Jack had been the focus of a witch hunt during that investigation...it had all taken its toll. During it all, she'd wished for the days she'd felt she helped him, wished for the days he'd said she had. The affair was over: that had been proven over the past couple of months. His coming here tonight gave her hope that though the affair was over, the relationship was not.  
  
Smiling at the lack of sense that made, she paused when she heard her door open and close softly. Resisting the impusle to rush out and throw her arms around him, she took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway.  
  
End Chapter 4 


	4. Chapters 5 and 6

The Cost Chapter 5  
  
Jack walked in and quietly closed the door behind him. Carefully placing his jacket on the coat tree that stood to his right, he then slowly walked into the livingroom. The sparsely furnished area, its huge, oversized sofa placed to take advantage of her 14th floor view, looked warm and inviting. Candles lit in groups here and there cast a comforting glow.  
  
But she wasn't there. She-  
  
"Jack."  
  
He turned, relieved. "Sorry I took so long."  
  
She smiled. "It gave the floor time to dry. And me time to shower."  
  
He nodded, feeling oddly out of place in a room he'd once felt at home in. In a room he'd once made love in.  
  
Samantha walked over and touched his arm and the feeling disappeared. Tension he'd been only periferally aware of slowly drained away.  
  
"Sit down. I'll put on a coffee or get us a drink - what do you want?"  
  
"A drink," he said, moving toward the sofa.  
  
She nodded. When he sat down on her massive sofa, she moved to stand behind him. Massaging his shoulders gently, she asked, "Beer, wine, or something hard?"  
  
"Make it hard," he said. The harsh rasp of it sliding down his throat would be a suitable counterpoint to the turmoil in his stomach.  
  
She turned and went into the kitchen. He felt cold and alone without her hands touching him. Rising, he followed her.  
  
"So, you were cleaning?" he asked from the doorway.  
  
She nodded, knowing what he was really asking. In respect for all they had shared, she answered truthfully, "I saw those boys, too. I know what it's doing to you. It's bad, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Knowing he couldn't talk about it yet, she directed him to get out the ice. Together, they mixed their drinks and returned to the livingroom.  
  
End Chapter 5  
  
The Cost Chapter 6  
  
"It's my fault. My playing God with the rule book set him loose. We could have had him, and I-"  
  
"We don't really know it's him, Jack," Samantha interjected, watching as he moved to stand by the window. "Not for sure, anyways. And that boy would have died if you hadn't done what you did and you know it. Your actions saved Andy Deaver's life."  
  
"And just cost the lives of two others. I know it's Graham Spaulding, and so do you. Carving that number in those boy's chests was a taunt. It couldn't be from anyone else."  
  
She shut her eyes for a moment against the image of the two bodies, the number fifteen cut crudely into the first one; the same number, but with a huge plus sign cut savagely into the second.  
  
Opening her eyes again, she saw that he was still standing in front of her large living room window, gazing out over the street sightlessly. She considered for a moment the danger of his being seen there and pushed it aside.  
  
"You can't hold yourself accountable for everything, Jack. You can't say you should have let Andy Deaver die, anymore than you can say it's your fault Graham Spaulding killed those two boys - if he killed those boys. There is evil out there. You did your best. Sometimes, no matter what we do, we can't win. This was one of those times. We can only do the best we can do. You did what was right for that situation at that particular time; you couldn't have done anything else."  
  
Jack continued to stare out into the darkness. They had been talking about this for more than an hour, with him mulling things over aloud, allowing all the anguish and self-recrimination he had kept pent up for far too long to spill out. Samantha had sat quietly, listening and questioning only occasionally. When she had spoken, however, he had listened, and when listening, he had felt himself being slowly drawn in by her words. Now, through slowly encroaching exhaustion, he found himself believing her...or wanting to believe so hard he thought he believed...  
  
Walking to one side of the window, he reached up for the curtain pull and closed the curtains against the night. "He's insane," he said gruffly, his tone telling her he was almost done with the subject for a while.  
  
Samantha nodded, relieved. "Yes, and you didn't make him that way."  
  
"We've got to find and stop him."  
  
Samantha frowned, and followed him with her eyes as he came to sit down heavily beside her. When he leaned his head against the back of the sofa tiredly, she said. "That's not our jurisdiction, Jack."  
  
"Who better to find someone missing?" he asked, his eyes closed.  
  
She paused, wondering how serious he was, wondering if this was simply the ramblings of a man who had slept one night's worth of sleep in the last four. Reaching over, she gently brushed her fingers against the side of his brow and then down the side of his face. It was the first time she had touched him so intimately since she had touched his face after he'd carried her out of that bookstore...  
  
Emotion welled up inside her, spilling out from her eyes as salty tears.  
  
Sensing a change in her through a haze of descending sleep, he opened his eyes. "Oh, Sam," he said, gathering her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. "Don't cry." Resting his cheek on the top of her head as he had on a sun-drenched bench so long ago, he held her. Nothing, he thought was over. Not even this.  
  
Thank God.  
  
With her slight, reassuring presence pressed against him, he again closed his eyes. Hugging her, he murmured, "I just need to sit for a minute..."  
  
End Chapter 6 


	5. Chapter 7

Here's the next chapter. Up to now, I've been writing and posting far more quickly than I had anticipated, but it looks like my schedule is going to get a little busier in the upcoming weeks, so please bear with me. I'll be slowing down a bit now in the posting rate unless I somehow manage to find more time to sit and write. There's always hope: I like to get things finished once I get them started!  
  
Thank you for the wonderful, supportive reviews on ff.net and on Maple Street. Wow. You sure know how to give a person incentive to keep writing! One thing, though: if you see something in the upcoming chapters that doesn't make sense, or find I've messed up in regards to locations, etc., please nail me. Or mail me. Whatever. I'm not a native of New York, and have been using maps from the internet to figure out where things are! I'd like to be as accurate as possible, though, and don't mind pointers. Or questions, or whatever.  
  
Again, thank you. And now: on with the show....with a brief scene just for Midnight Caller, in appreciation for all the stories I've enjoyed...  
  
The Cost  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Jack awoke, disorientated. He was not lying in his bed at home; the body his arm was slung over was not his wife's. He raised his head slightly and peered into the darkness. Where-  
  
Realising where he was and who he was with, he lay back softly. The wonderfully familiar body next to him belonged to someone he had missed too much...  
  
He lay there without moving, carefully preserving the moment. Thoughts of the night before slowly drifted back, his talking until he could talk no more... her listening carefully... his sitting down on the sofa to build up the energy to leave... Very gently, he gathered Samantha a little closer to him. They weren't in her bed, they weren't naked, but oh, it felt good to lie beside her; felt good to feel her in his arms again. He closed his eyes and moved his head closer to hers. Inhaling her scent, he slowly relaxed back into sleep.  
  
Hours later, an alarm clock clamoured for attention from the bedroom. Samantha stirred in his arms.  
  
"What time is it set for?" he asked softly.  
  
She turned her head, then settled her body more onto her back to see him better. "Almost six," she told him, her voice husky from sleep. "We need a few extra minutes for your shower." She regarded him a moment, something flashing in her eyes too briefly for him to interpret. With a muttered, "Good morning," she moved to kiss him on the cheek, then rose before he could respond in a quick, fluid movement to go turn off the alarm.  
  
When she came back, he had sat up and was looking about in a perplexed manner that made her smile.  
  
"Yes, you stayed the night. I couldn't bear to wake you up and send you home. You were too tired. You needed the rest. Maria isn't home, so..." her voice drifted off.  
  
Maria. He wondered if she had phoned last night, and what his explanation for not answering at home or the office would be if she had.  
  
"You couldn't have been very comfortable," he said.  
  
She flushed. "I was fine." She'd considered - briefly - sleeping in her bed, but seeing Jack lying there, with more than enough room beside him...  
  
"It felt...good to wake up beside you," he said, unsure, under the circumstances, of how much to say, but thankful for her impulse. Looking down at his rumpled shirt and pants, he said, "I'll have to go home to change."  
  
She shook her head. "You've still got things here. Let me go find them."  
  
She knew just where to find the suit and shirt that had been left behind when their affair had ended. She'd had them cleaned and had thought to return them, but somehow the time had never seemed right. Now, gathering socks and boxers he'd also left behind, she walked out to present him with his wardrobe.  
  
He wasn't there.  
  
The sound of a cupboard closing took her to the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and watched him quietly as he began to make their morning coffee.  
  
Sensing her presence, he stopped, the coffee filter half out of the box. Looking over at her, he said, "Like old times, eh?" He hesitated, as though to say more, but then continued getting the coffee ready.  
  
"I've missed this," he admitted, pouring water into the top of her coffee machine. Conscious of her gaze, he flipped the 'on' button, not daring to look at her.  
  
"Me, too."  
  
The tone of her voice made him turn and stare across the kitchen. Thousands of things they both wanted to say danced in the air between them.  
  
After a long moment, Jack cleared his throat. "Who showers first?"  
  
"You," she said, glad the spell was broken. "I've got to iron a shirt."  
  
While Jack was in the shower, Samantha's phone shrilled. Reaching for it with one hand while she continued to iron with the other, she said, "Hello?" then set the iron down when she recognised Danny's voice. Listening for a while, she suggested, "He's probably on his way in already. I'll be there as soon as I can," and hung up. When the shower stopped, she tapped on the bathroom door.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
He opened the door, a towel wrapped around his waist.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Danny just called. They're trying to locate you. Another boy's been reported missing. I told him you were maybe already on the way in. Where's your cell phone?"  
  
He uttered a curse. "At home, on my dresser. Where it shouldn't be." Jack calculated that if he said he'd stopped somewhere for breakfast, maybe the timing would be right. Thank God Samantha lived so close to the office...  
  
"Well, you won't have time to go home and get it. You'll have to say you had it turned off or something and forgot it."  
  
He nodded. "I'll grab a coffee and see you there." He paused. "Another one," he sighed, some of the haunted look returning to his eyes.  
  
Wordlessly, she placed a hand on his arm. He tried to smile, then abruptly placed a brief kiss on her forehead. "I'd better get going."  
  
Turning away, he strode into the livingroom for his clothes; she returned to her ironing. Both their minds focussed on work and another missing teenage boy.  
  
End Chapter 7 


	6. Chapter 8

The Cost Chapter 8  
  
When Jack stepped from the elevator onto the twenty-third floor, Danny was waiting for him.  
  
"Hey, we've been trying to reach you. You weren't home, and weren't answering your cell."  
  
"Why? What's going on?" Jack asked, neatly sidestepping the need for explanations.  
  
Successfully diverted for the time being, Danny explained, "We got a phone call early this morning. Another teenage boy. Someone at NYPD eventually noticed that this might be part of the other two teenagers we've had and phoned here around five a.m. When they couldn't find you, they were told to call me."  
  
Jack nodded. Five a.m. The breakfast excuse wouldn't work. Better to say nothing at all. "What have you got so far?"  
  
Keeping pace with his boss as he walked towards his office, Danny filled him in.  
  
Samantha arrived about fifteen minutes later. Looking up from his desk, Danny tossed the papers he was reading on his desk and stood up. "Good, you're here. Vivian won't be in for a while yet, so Jack said we'd start as soon as you arrived."  
  
Samantha looked at him and then at Martin, who had also risen when she appeared. Turning her brown eyes back to Danny, she raised one eyebrow and asked lightly, "You're a little hyper this morning, aren't you? Whatever happened to 'Good morning'?"  
  
Danny paused, realising that his pulse was racing. She was right. For some reason this case had him revved up. He felt a certain amount of guilt over how the Deaver case had been handled, and now felt jittery about making sure the bastard was caught. He wasn't certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but for now it was the way that it was.  
  
"Sorry. Good morning. How are you? How was your evening?" he asked with a smile.  
  
She smiled back. "My evening was great, but the morning would've been better without the phone call at dawn." Turning serious, she said, "I got here as fast as I could. What's the story? Did you find Jack?"  
  
She looked at him innocently, sure that that last question was a masterful stroke of subterfuge.  
  
Danny nodded. "He got here 15 or 20 minutes ago. We'll talk about what's up in a minute: I'll let him know you're here and meet you at the table."  
  
Samantha nodded and watched as he strode towards Jack's door. Turning to Martin, she smiled. "Guess that means we should go find ourselves a seat."  
  
Martin made an expansive gesture. "After you, m'lady."  
  
They had barely settled into their chairs when Jack and Danny strode in. Jack walked over to stand at the head of the table. Danny quickly took his seat beside Martin.  
  
"Why don't you tell us what we've got, Danny?" Jack asked.  
  
Danny leaned his arms on the table. "Tyler Germaine, aged 15. He goes to Joseph R. Drake High School, over in the Bronx. Lives just down the street from the school, on 2268 Spofford. He's been missing since about five o'clock last night. Parents got worried around nine - figured he was with friends and forgot to call. By midnight, they phoned the police. We were contacted around 5 a.m. this morning. That's about all we have for now. They're sending over their notes on conversations with the parents, but we need to get over and interview them as soon as possible."  
  
"You and Samantha interview the parents," Jack said. "Martin and Vivian can head out later to talk to the school and his friends."  
  
Samantha looked at him sharply, then relaxed. She'd expected him to be in on the interviewing, but it made sense for him to distance himself. She glanced at Danny and Martin. Their actions had played a role in what had happened during the Andy Deaver case, and she wondered how they felt about things now. That was likely why, she thought, Jack had paired each of them up with someone who had not had direct responsibility in that case.  
  
They sat a few more moments recording addresses and phone numbers and setting up the white board. When they were ready to leave, Jack said, "And remember: by the book. If this kid was abducted, we can guess who took him. Spaulding's smart, but there's no way he's getting off again."  
  
* * *  
  
They had been driving to Cora and Norman Germaine's house for about ten minutes when Danny broke the silence and asked, "Does Jack seem okay to you?"  
  
Samantha looked over at him. Schooling her features, she said, "I think so, why?"  
  
He shrugged. "I dunno. He hasn't been himself this week - not since we found the first body. And...well.. he was a real mess yesterday, don't you think?"  
  
"I think under the circumstances that's understandable, don't you?"  
  
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. He seemed to be really....I dunno," he said, searching for the right words,"...haunted, I guess. I didn't like seeing him like that. I have a feeling he's blaming himself for what's happening, and no way should he be carrying around that kind of guilt. It's not his fault. He needs to know that."  
  
She nodded. "I know. He'll come around."  
  
They drove in silence until they arrived at the Germaine's apartment building. After fifteen minutes of driving around, they finally managed to grab a parking spot. Sighing with relief, Danny parked the car. Turning the engine off, he sat back in his seat, making no move to leave the vehicle.  
  
Samantha looked over at him curiously.  
  
Danny looked pensive a moment, then turned to look at her. "He seems better today, Samantha. He came in looking much more like himself. I'm glad for that," he said slowly.  
  
She felt trapped by his steady gaze. Not knowing for sure what he was saying, she nodded, praying he wasn't trying to tell her he knew where Jack had been when they'd tried to find him.  
  
"We better get started," she said in a voice that sounded strange even to her ears.  
  
"Yeah," Danny said. Checking for his note pad and pen, he moved to get out of the car.  
  
End Chapter 8 


	7. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Martin slumped deeper into his chair and pushed himself away from his desk with his foot.  
  
"The only thing good about today is that we haven't found a body," he said to anyone listening.  
  
Samantha looked over at him from her desk. Danny grinned at him and said, "Pizza for dinner was okay."  
  
They'd all arrived back on the 23rd floor at about the same time. Knowing there was no way in hell any of them were leaving at a normal time, they'd ordered in pizza. Even Jack had come out. Tossing some bills on the table, he'd said, "Order some with extra cheese. Call me when it arrives and we'll go over everything while we eat." He'd then returned to his office.  
  
Vivian had watched him disappear, noting he'd closed his door behind him.  
  
"This is eating him real bad," she'd said, her expression concerned. "Yesterday, I was really worried about him. He looked awful."  
  
"Has he talked to anyone about what's going on?" Martin asked.  
  
Samantha swore she could feel Danny's eyes drilling into her back, but she resolutely remained bent over her notes.  
  
"Not to me, he hasn't," Danny said.  
  
"I wonder how he deals with stuff like this," Martin commented. "He's been in this business a long time: everything can't always go the way you want it to." Remembering the guilt he still carried over Anwar Samir's death, he shook his head, "He'd have carried that kid dying around with him for the rest of his life if he hadn't done what he did. Now, he's walking around looking as though these boys' deaths are his fault." He shook his head. "He's not the sonofabitch who let him walk on a technicality."  
  
"No," Vivian agreed. Obviously in a more expansive mood than usual, she continued, "But Jack's different from a lot of people you'll work with. He needs to do his job, but he also has to feel that he's done the right thing along the way. Usually he knows what the right thing is and can walk away no matter what the outcome of a case is. This is one of those rare times when although he had been convinced he had done what he should have done, recent events are making him question himself."  
  
Danny thought back to the first case he and Martin had worked on together and the conversation he'd had with Jack afterwards. The right thing had been to let things go, to let the dead lie, so to speak. Jack had done that easily, happily, even, as though he somehow identified with the man's need to start over afresh. Others, he knew, would not have been so forgiving, and would have tracked Patrick Kent down. That kind of understanding and compassion made Jack a man Danny felt good working for, a man he could respect. That Jack's personal life was a total screwup didn't alter that admiration at all. Martin's phone rang. Answering it, he quickly turned and said, "Security desk says the pizza's here. Someone go tell Jack. "  
  
"Samantha?" Danny said, "You're the closest."  
  
She turned. "By six inches."  
  
He shrugged. "Your tough luck."  
  
She rose and walked to Jack's door, certain Danny had done this on purpose and sure he was watching her back.  
  
She knocked on the door lightly, then opened it straight away. "Jack? Soup's on."  
  
He looked up at her from his desk and removed his glasses. Placing them carefully in front of him, he pinched his nose on the sore spot where they had lain. Sighing, he said, "I think I'll pass."  
  
"Jack, you said we'd eat and debrief at the same time."  
  
He's forgotten. "Okay, then. I'm on my way."  
  
She paused, aware Danny was still watching. Deciding to throw caution to the wind anyway, she stepped further into his office and asked quietly, "How you doing?"  
  
"I'm okay."  
  
She held his gaze, searching for some reassurance that he was telling her the truth.  
  
She found little.  
  
"Really," he said, his brows rising.  
  
"Just making sure," she said, unconvinced. "You know that..." She stopped at his look.  
  
"I know."  
  
Nodding, she turned to leave. Jack's voice stopped her.  
  
"Sam."  
  
"Yes?" she said, turning to face him again.  
  
"Last night...thanks. It was just what I needed. You...helped." It had been what he's needed, but on some level it had scared him, too: scared him that he had felt so much better after talking to her, and so much NOT better after talking to Maria...  
  
Samantha nodded, a glow of satisfaction suffusing her. "Now you need to get out here so that we can eat, talk, and go home."  
  
The thought of going home held no pleasure, but he nodded and rose.  
  
End Chapter 9 


	8. Chapter 10

Life is going more smoothly than expected. Here's some more of 'The Cost', hot off the press! Thank you kindly for the enthusiasm and the words of encouragement. I'll try to write and post more soon. Have a great weekend, everyone.  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Jack scheduled himself, Samantha and Danny to work on Saturday. The missing, as Jack had tried to explain to Maria early in their marriage, weren't all conveniently found by Friday. Over the years, he'd learned to delegate to his team and take time to be with his family, but there were always those cases that he refused to leave no matter what the day of the week. Maria and the girls being away, of course, made the point moot. He was here and would remain here. On Sunday, Martin and Vivian would be with him.  
  
When Samantha walked onto the 23rd floor early that morning, she headed straight for Jack's office. She hadn't had the opportunity to speak to him alone before leaving the evening before and didn't know if he'd stayed at work all night or had gone home. Remembering the monitoring of the phone logs, she hadn't dared to call to find out.  
  
The haunted eyes he turned towards her when she stepped into his office told her no matter where he'd been, it hadn't been a good night.  
  
"Jack, what is it?"  
  
"I had a phone message waiting for me when I got home last night."  
  
Her heart stilled. Maria. She'd phoned. She knew he hadn't been home Thursday night. She-  
  
"I'm pretty sure it was from Spaulding," he said. He pressed a button on an answering machine he'd set up on his desk and sat back to stare at it while he waited.  
  
As the sound of the tape revolving began, Samantha gathered her wits about her and walked over to slowly settle herself on the edge of the chair in front of his desk.  
  
After a shrill beep disturbed the room's silence, a heavy, electronically altered voice said, "I'm finally getting my fifteen minutes, Jack... and more." There was what seemed to Samantha an ominous pause, then: "You're about to discover the cost of a broken promise."  
  
A click indicated the end of the message.  
  
She sat back, exhaling a breath she had unconsciously been holding. Suppressing a shiver, she said, "So it's him."  
  
"Yeah," Jack answered, sweeping a hand down over his face and slumping back into his chair. "Who else would have a fixation about fifteen minutes? And the broken promise thing clinches it. I came in and had the call traced. It was from a phone booth over in north Queens, near 94th and 23rd."  
  
She sat a moment, not saying anything. The threat of Jack paying the cost of breaking his promise worried her. Rethinking what she had heard, she relaxed somewhat when she realised the threat didn't seem to have been made directly towards Jack. "He's killing these boys and saying it's your fault..." Her voice trailed off. Turning eyes filled with shock and horror towards Jack, she realised that this had been exactly what he had feared, exactly what he had spent these past few days feeling guilt about.  
  
"Yeah. Not that he needs to. It's obvious if I'd-"  
  
"It's not obvious, and nothing you'd have done back then - short of shooting him - would have made an ounce of difference to what he's doing now," Samantha said forcefully, desperate to wipe away the look on Jack's face. "He's making these choices. You have nothing to do with it."  
  
"That's not what he's saying."  
  
"He's playing mind games with you."  
  
Part of Jack recognised that and agreed. Another, less confident part of him wondered. Leaning forward, he put his elbows on his desk and then placed his head in his hands.  
  
Concerned, Samantha said, "You didn't sleep last night."  
  
"A bit."  
  
"A very little bit."  
  
He made a sound half way between a grunt and a sigh.  
  
"You look like death," she insisted.  
  
He shrugged and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I'll be okay."  
  
She sat there looking at him, wanting nothing more than to go over to him, sit on his lap, and wrap her arms around him. They had made their choices months ago, though, so instead, she asked softly, "Did you talk to Maria last night? Does she know what's happening?"  
  
He knew she was talking about the case, and not about his Thursday night visit to her apartment. "Yeah," he said gruffly, "we talked. She's thinking that since I'm going to be really busy for a while on this case, she may stay up with the girls at her parents for a few extra days. She's got some time owed her, and it's slow at the office right now. The girls won't have too much trouble catching up with school. Maybe it made her nervous that he had our home phone number, I dunno."  
  
Samantha was appalled. "Jack, she-" she stopped herself, knowing it wasn't her place to say what his wife should or should not do. "You shouldn't-" she stopped herself again, knowing it wasn't her place to say what he should or shouldn't have to do, either.  
  
He looked at her with dark eyes. "I did this to myself, Sam. A long time ago. You know that."  
  
He'd spent years believing it better not to take his work home with him, thinking it better not to talk about anything bothering him. When he realised he needed to talk and wanted her listening ear and support, it had been too late: she had been only vaguely interested or had listened and given solutions that to her seemed logical, but which he knew only showed how little she understood what he did. And that, he had come to realise, had been the crux of many of their problems: when he had come to need it, it had been too late to create a space for that part of his life in hers. She was busy with the kids and work and appointments and measles and reports and all the other minutia of their day-to-day lives. There wasn't room or time or inclination to accommodate anything new on the agenda.  
  
Samantha stared at him, dismayed. "But-"  
  
Jack stopped her. "No buts. I don't know. She doesn't need the stress of this sort of thing right now, anyways." He shrugged. "Maybe she's considering another separation. I'm not sure what's going on. We'll talk when she gets back, I suppose."  
  
Samantha kept her face expressionless. What was his wife thinking?He'd moved back with Maria a few weeks after the Barry Mashburn incident. He'd never fully explained what had taken place inside that bookstore, but something had happened to make him try one more time to get his marriage back on track. To her surprise, Maria had agreed. Up until now, she'd figured things must be working out reasonably well. Maria's response to the crisis Jack was going through altered that idea.A wife supported her husband through this sort of thing, she didn't walk away. If he had to deal with the emotional upheaval of her changing her mind while this was going on, he'd-  
  
"What are you doing for dinner tonight?"  
  
His question jolted Samantha out of her thoughts.  
  
She looked at him, shocked. "Nothing, but Jack-"  
  
"Let's see how the day goes, okay?" he said, not letting her finish.  
  
Disconcerted, she opened her mouth to speak. She was stopped from saying anything, however, when Danny put his head in the doorway. "Hey! You two are in early. We're meeting at the table, right?"  
  
Jack nodded, trying to meet the younger man's energy with some of his own. He found that he couldn't. "In five minutes. I've got something you need to hear."  
  
Danny glanced from Jack to Samantha and then back to Jack. "Sounds interesting." With a tap on the door jamb, he continued on his way.  
  
End Chapter 10 


	9. Chapter 11

The Cost Chapter 11  
  
It wasn't until seven o'clock that night that Danny and Samantha managed to find their way back to the office. They'd followed every lead, talked to everyone they could find on a Saturday, and come up with only one person who had observed a young man who might have been Tyler Germaine speaking to an older man who may have fit Spaulding's description. Needing to talk to the bus driver, they'd learned he'd taken his son north for some fishing. He'd be back Sunday night. Martin and Vivian, Jack had decided, would talk to him first thing on Monday morning.  
  
Sitting at their respective desks, both had been quiet while they wrote up their notes until Samantha heard Danny stir. "Still no body. That's a good sign," he observed, swivelling his chair to look in her direction. "Tyler may have just taken off. His parents said he was really angry, and he has run away before."  
  
Looking over at him, Samantha tapped her pen on her desk. "But he's always called the next day. It's been two days, now," she said.  
  
"So he's madder than usual," he replied, trying hard to avoid thinking the worst.  
  
Samantha shook her head. "His parents say he doesn't stay angry for long."  
  
"Samantha, you're killing my optimism here."  
  
She looked at him and tried to smile. Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she apologised. "Sorry, I'm just tired."  
  
He regarded her silently for a moment. This case was disturbing her more than he'd have expected. Glancing towards Jack's office, he wondered how much Jack's reaction to what was happening was affecting her. Deciding his suspicions in that area were not his business, he said, "And maybe hungry. Want to go grab something to eat? We can order in and eat while we work, if you want."  
  
She smiled a real smile, then. Good ol' Danny. She knew him well enough to know he didn't want her to think he was coming on to her, so he'd added that last part so that she didn't feel threatened. Shaking her head, she said, "No, I think I'll just go home and curl up for a while. Thanks, though."  
  
He nodded. "Let's go finish up with Jack, then."  
  
Together, they walked to their boss' office.  
  
Just as they were finishing up, Danny's desk phone began an incessant shrill. While he was away at his desk answering it, Jack took the opportunity to quietly ask, "Well? Do you feel up to dinner?"  
  
She gave him a short nod. She'd known that morning she'd go if he asked again. Whether or not he and his wife made it, when she'd told Danny she wanted to go home and curl up, she'd really been thinking she wanted to go home and curl up with Jack.  
  
Old habits, she thought, died hard.  
  
Especially when you didn't want them to.  
  
Pictures of Tyler, the number fifteen hacked into his chest, ran through her mind. She closed her eyes, knowing she didn't want to be alone with dark thoughts. Didn't want Jack to be alone with them, either. Keeping each other company made sense; they would be good for each other. There were more selfish reasons for her to want to be with him, too, but those she tried to set aside.  
  
"I'll meet you in front of McKinely's," he said, naming a store two blocks and around the corner away.  
  
Danny came back, the look on his face making it obvious the caller had been female. Samantha teased, "Hot date on a Saturnday night, or what?"  
  
Danny grinned. "Looks like it! I'm off, if that's okay." When Jack nodded, he sketched a salute at them both and threw a "See you Monday!" over his shoulder as he left.  
  
* * *  
  
An hour later, Danny was hurrying back to the office, cursing himself for leaving his wallet in the jacket he'd decided to not bother taking home with him. Drawing up at the stop light on Chambers and Church, he saw a bulky, familiar figure standing, hands in pockets, near the corner. He was obviously waiting, and not for a change in lights. Traffic was slow - it was Saturday night and the streets were busy - so Danny had time to glance around. Up ahead, another, familiar figure walked along the sidewalk towards him. This one was blond and female, her hair tied back in its usual ponytail.  
  
He paused and glanced between the two of them again to confirm what he was seeing, but felt no surprise. If anything, he realised he was glad they would not be alone tonight. A long time ago he'd learned that when life is stormy and a safe harbour is offered, you shouldn't question its location too deeply. They'd known each other long enough, he figured, to know what they needed. The lights changed, and he continued on his way back to work.  
  
It was only later that he wondered what others would think if they knew...  
  
End Chapter 11 


	10. Chapter 12

The Cost Chapter 12  
  
Unaware Danny had just driven by, Jack watched Samantha intently as she walked up the street. "Hey," he said when she drew to a stop beside him.  
  
She smiled. "Hey, yourself."  
  
"Any thoughts on where you'd like to go?"  
  
When she named a popular grocery store, he looked at her, his eyes questioning.  
  
"We'll pick something up and cook it at my place," she explained. "It won't take much longer than dinner out and it'll be more relaxing. You can help." He needed to concentrate on something besides a man murdering young boys. They both did.  
  
She saw him consider the idea and felt relieved when he nodded. Smiling, she took his arm and started walking towards the subway. "What do you feel like dicing?"  
  
* * *  
  
They'd dined in fine style, having also stopped to buy a favourite wine and a dessert. Sitting across from him at her her small dining table, she smiled, happy with what she saw. He'd removed his tie, opened the top couple of buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves before they'd begun their meal preparation. With each action, she'd noticed that he seemed to shed a little more of his tension. Now, candlelight smoothed many of the remaining lines of worry from his face. His dark eyes glowed as he gazed back at her, the haunted look replaced by something warmer and more familiar.  
  
And more dangerous.  
  
Not daring to hold that look too long, she glanced down at the coffee cup she held in her hand and commented, "You know what? I think this is just what we needed. And I've been dying to try that recipe, but it was way too much work to put myself through for just one person."  
  
He grunted, thinking of the armfuls of groceries they'd brought back to her apartment and processed, just to get two plates of food. "It was too much work for just two. But it was good. Thank you." He smiled. "It was definitely better than hunkering down at Honest Fred's for a burger."  
  
Her eyes widened. Fred's was a burger joint reknowned for it's fried onions and greasy half pounders. "That's where you were going to take me?!" She sat back in her chair. "I'm glad I saved us from the coronaries by cooking here."  
  
"Well, I did offer you the choice of where to go, remember. Fred's was just sort of a back up plan if you couldn't come up with something." His lips curved upward. "And you weren't the only one dicing and slicing and saute- ing. I was there, too, remember."  
  
"So you were," she smiled in return. Seeing him glance at his watch, her mood immediately changed. "What time do you need to be home?"  
  
"Maria said she'd phone around ten thirty, eleven o'clock."  
  
Samantha nodded, relief and sadness sliding across her shoulders with equal measure. Having him here had been dangerous - they'd both known that. Maria's phone call was the safety net they both needed.  
  
"Then you've time to help with the dishes," she said.  
  
He nodded, glad for one last bit of domesticity to keep his thoughts at bay. Time enough later, when he was at home and alone, to think dark thoughts. "I suppose that's fair. I want dibs on washing, though."  
  
Rising, they collected their dishes and moved to the kitchen counter.  
  
* * *  
  
He shovelled his arms into the jacket she held for him and turned to say good bye.  
  
She stood smiling at him and he stopped, staring at her with dark eyes. She had eased his mind tonight. And now, more than anything in the world, he wanted to take her in his arms and seek another, familiar and more intimate solace.  
  
She looked at him with eyes that reflected everything he was feeling. "Jack," she said softly, "Please don't. I know what you're thinking. Don't make this harder." Needing to touch him in spite of her words, she reached up and fixed his collar. Patting his shoulders with hands that didn't want to let go, she reminded him, "Maria will be calling. You need to be there."  
  
He nodded, but bent his head and touched her lips softly with his own. "Thank you," he murmured. Leaning his forehead against hers, he breathed deeply before kissing her on the forehead and reluctantly standing back to reach for the door knob.  
  
Willing herself not to step towards him, she shook her head. "I needed company too."  
  
He stared at her a moment, then nodded. "See you Monday," he said in a low voice. The door closed quietly behind him when he left.  
  
They didn't know it then, but it was to be the last quiet moment they would share for some time.  
  
End Chapter 12 


	11. Chapter 13

The Cost Chapter 13  
  
Monday Morning Blues  
  
The phone rang shrilly, waking her far before her alarm would have. Reaching out groggily, she fumbled for the receiver and held it to her ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Samantha. It's Danny. Jack just called; he's on the way in. I think you'd better get in here, too. I'm calling Martin and Valerie, next."  
  
"What happened?" she asked, dread trickling down her spine as she struggled into a sitting position.  
  
"They found Tyler Germaine's body beside a dumpster just off Flatbush, near the Belt Parkway. He's really messed up. Another fifteen, with three plus signs this time, and they say it looks like he was used pretty rough. This guy's on a roll."  
  
Samantha stood up, already calculating how long it would take to get in. Then something more important occurred to her. "You said Jack was on his way in? He's already been to the site?"  
  
"No, he's on the way to the site now. He'll come here straight afterwards," Danny explained.  
  
"When did you talk to him?" What she really wanted to know was if she could manage to get to the site while Jack was still there.  
  
"Only about ten minutes ago." Understanding what she was asking, he added, "If you're fast, you'll probably get there about when he does: traffic's the usual Monday morning mess out his way. Try it - it might be good to have someone else there."  
  
She was already walking towards the shower. "What's the address?"  
  
He told her and she memorized it quickly. Saying thanks, she set the phone on the bathroom counter and stepped into the shower. Fighting down her dismay, she turned on the water. She'd thought when there'd been no body on Sunday that perhaps Tyler Germaine had a chance....  
  
* * *  
  
Jack's face was ashen as he stepped out onto the twenty-third floor. Purposefully trying to block out the image of Tyler Germaine's poor, abused body, he strode towards his office, not appearing to notice the others stand back out of his way and then gather around Samantha as she stepped out of the elevator behind him. Closing his door behind him, he went to his desk and smashed his first down on it, welcoming the stab of pain it brought. Where the hell was he slipping up? Who had he not thought to have interviewed? Where had he not thought to have someone look? Spaulding had to be leaving clues; someone, somewhere had to have seen something...  
  
He sat down heavily. Every time he failed to get the job done, another boy died. He reached over and picked up the phone. Punching in an extension, he waited. When the ringing tone stopped, he said, "Martin: I want you and Vivian to get on that bus driver right now. I want to know if Tyler and Spaulding got on that bus, and if they did, I want to know where they got off and what direction they went. I want all you can find, including the names or discriptions of anyone else on that bus. Someone might have overheard a conversation between them. Call me after you've talked to him."  
  
Placing the receiver down with a thud, he sat, trying to calm himself and trying to push back the feeling of helplessness that tinted his sense of guilt. Sighing, he reached over and picked up the receiver again. Dialling for his voice mail, he sought refuge in routine. Routine would help him focus; routine would take the edge off his anger. And off his fear for the next person missing.  
  
Routine, however, was not the solace it ought to have been. Message number five blew that hope all to hell.  
  
End Chapter 13 


	12. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  
  
Jack sat back in his chair, his pencil impatiently tapping on his desk as he waited for the next message on his voice mail. Finally, a monotone voice said, "Message number five." There was an unusually long silence, then a deep, distorted voice that made Jack's blood run cold said, "Jack, you've missed one and you don't even know it, do you?" There was a static-y 'tut, tut' sound, then the voice murmured, "Count your plusses, Jack... and your blessings..." Another pause, then: "They're my gifts to you, Jack. Just for you."  
  
Jack sat back, too shocked to react at first. Then, gathering himself together, he leaned forward and savagely punched the buttons to enable him to replay the message. As he listened again, despair threatened to overwhelm him. There it was: confirmation that he was responsible for what was happening. He, and the decisions he had made, had set Spaulding off on this rampage. Putting the phone back down heavily, he forced himself to breathe. Count your plusses...Tyler Germain had had three plus marks carved into his body. The boy before that, one...  
  
Somewhere out there, lay a boy with two.  
  
And they hadn't even known he was missing...  
  
* * *  
  
Moments later, Jack walked through the bull pen and stopped beside Vivian's desk. "Have Sam and Danny left to meet with the Cameron's?" he asked, referring to a couple who had just reported their elderly grandmother missing.  
  
Vivian looked up. Jack looked bad - worse than she had ever seen him, and there was little doubt in her mind what over. Frowning, but making no comment, she answered his question in the affirmative, then watched as he paused to think. Finally, he told her, "Find Martin. I need you both in my office right now." Turning on his heel, he strode back in the direction of his office.  
  
* * *  
  
When Vivian and Martin entered his office, Jack said nothing. Instead, he punched on his speaker phone and motioned for them to listen. The dark tones of the message rang out into the quiet room once again. Valerie and Martin listened, their dismay evident. "He's made this a personal vendetta," Martin said. "He's out to get you."  
  
"And killing young men to do it," Valerie murmured, her voice heavy.  
  
When Jack remained silent, Martin said, "No one's reported another young teenager missing; we don't even know where to start looking. How do we deal with that?"he asked, his face showing concern.  
  
Jack leaned his arms on his desk. Folding his hands together, he sighed heavily, then said, "We only have his word to go on: we don't actually know for sure there's someone really missing - his saying that could just be part of the mind game he's playing." He stopped, obviously deep in thought. After a brief pause, he said, "But I don't think so. Spaulding wants us to use our energy looking for the boy's body. I think maybe we should concentrate on looking for the man who killed him."  
  
He rose. "I'm going to talk to Van Doren. She needs to know about this. Martin, you keep on the DeCamp thing. Vivian, if you could give him a hand? We'll meet and sort out what's what when I get back." They nodded and moved aside to let him pass. Watching as he entered Van Doren's office and closed the door behind him, Martin muttered, "This is not good." Turning to Vivian, he asked, "What if Van Doren pulls him until this is over? That's what they usually do, isn't it?"  
  
Vivian shook her head. It was a real possibility, and Martin was right, it was what they usually did: a closely involved agent was not necessarily the best one to have in charge of an investigation. In this case, however, it was not something she liked the idea of. Jack needed to participate. Even more, he would need to direct. It would be the only way he would be able to allay the guilt and sense of responsibility he felt. "If she does that, we're screwed. With him gone, they'll take the case away from us and give it to NCAVC. And he," she said, tilting her head towards where Jack had just disappeared, "will lose it completely."  
  
Martin stared at the Van Doren's door, considering the ramifications of having the case taken out of Jack's control. "Heaven help us," he murmured, realising what that would do to not only Malone's, but the team's, reputation.  
  
She looked at him, then nodded. "Us and the next teenaged boy Spaulding approaches."  
  
End Chapter 14 


	13. Chapter 15

The Cost Chapter 15  
  
Graham Spaulding sat quietly in the abandoned building he'd discovered on one of his hunts. The disappointment of not finding someone to take home that particular lonely night had almost been compensated by finding this place, he thought, looking around the empty space he'd turned into what he thought of as his headquarters. The covered windows meant his presence was not easily detectable, the building's newly closed state meant it was not delapitated enough to attract the homeless, and the neighbourhood was good enough that it was unlikely it would be vandalized. It seemed a perfect, if temporary, place for him to begin his new life. After reinforcing the windows from the inside, he'd gradually brought all his worldly possessions here: his books, his papers, his pictures and tapes. All those things that were important - which meant his instruments, too, of course... the things that made the boys cry...  
  
His mood suddenly swinging, he looked around and allowed hatred to run though him in hot tremors. Jack Malone had brought him to this. Jack Malone had reduced him to living like a reject, behind boarded up windows and double-locked doors. Jack Malone had cost him his life - a life he'd worked hard to achieve, a life he chosen to please his Papa. Spaulding Academy, Spaulding tradition: they were so important... Papa had wanted him to follow in his footsteps, and reluctantly, when there had been no other choice, he had answered the call and taken over as headmaster. He'd known Papa would have been gratified by his decision. He also knew Papa would never forgive him for what had happened after Andy Deaver.  
  
He had known at the trial that he could never go back, never resume his life as headmaster of his father's school. Though no fault of his own, he had failed. The public accusations, the private whispers... all had seen his boys withdrawn from the academy, one by one. So Spaulding Academy was closed, to become nothing more than a memory. The papers were signed and the property sold. He had nothing left, no matter that the law had dismissed the case. Papa's legacy was finished.  
  
And it was Jack Malones' fault.  
  
His fists clenched. Though it had been Jack's inept underlings who had collected their illegal evidence, it had been Malone at the centre of it all. And it had been he who had spoken to him in dulcet, seductive tones, lulling him into a trust that would be betrayed. That trust, that feeling of safety and understanding, had been new to him, had momentarily opened a world of hope in his lonely life that had made the look of revulsion in Jack's eyes when Andy was found too much to bear.  
  
Yes, he had known at the trial that he could never go back, never resume his former life. But in the quiet of his cell, he had devised his revenge...  
  
He would have his fifteen minutes, and the cost would be high.  
  
Freed of the last vestiges of humanity and conscience, he felt light, unstoppable and invincible. He would prove his superiority, prove who was the better man. And Supervisory Special Agent Jack Malone would pay the price.  
  
Rising, he walked across his darkened room to the cot that now served as his bed and lay down on his back, his hands neatly folded on his chest.  
  
Jack Malone had played him, and Jack Malone would pay. He would pay, he decided, with what he held dearest: his career and reputation. An eye for an eye. He, Graham Spaulding, would show the world what Jack Malone really was - a wasted, washed out, incompetent, lying fool incapable of doing his job. Jack would find himself unable to do his self-righteous 'right thing'; he would find it impossible to do 'his job'. As he ran circles around Jack, enjoying the dear boys with their soft skin and strong limbs and their cries for the mammas as they died, Jack's superiors would notice Jack's failures. Jack would pay for his mistakes with his job.  
  
It was only fair.  
  
Smiling into the darkness, he closed his eyes. Yes. That was it. That would be both his revenge and his legacy. He was a generous man: he'd give Jack Malone all the boys...  
  
...when he was finished with them.  
  
End Chapter 15 


	14. Chapter 16

The Cost chapter 16  
  
While Jack was in with Van Doren, Vivian made a phone call. Listening to the ringing on the other end of the line, she waited patiently. Finally, the ringing stopped, followed by the expected 'Agent Spade speaking'. Not wasting time with greetings, she said quickly, "Samantha, you and Danny better get back here as soon as you can. Jack got another message. He's in talking to Van Doren right now. Spaulding's gone off the deep end, and Jack's..." she stopped, not knowing what else to say, but sure Samantha would understand. After being assured they'd be there as soon as possible, she hung up and turned to Martin. "They'll be back in under an hour. Let's do what we can with the DeCamp report."  
  
Seeing Martin's quizzical look, she explained her phone call. "We all need to be here when Jack comes out from talking to Paula. These murders just got personal: Spaulding's trying to mess with Jack's mind and his career. There's no way we're going to let him face this alone. We need to be here, together, when he comes to tell us what's going to be done. We have to let him know we're behind him. We have to let Van Doren know that, too."  
  
Martin nodded thoughtfully. "Gotcha." He paused a moment, and Vivian regarded him expectantly. Finally, he suggested, "Someone should call his wife. One way or another, he's gotta be taking this home with him. She should know...I mean, if he's not talking to anyone here about it... He's been really stressed... this isn't going to help." He stopped, looking embarrassed.  
  
Vivian looked at him, surprised. The thought was a considerate one, and one which, under different circumstances and with a different marriage, would have been a good one. Unfortunately, she had been a long standing witness to the Malone marital dynamics. She thought maybe at one point Maria had loved Jack and Jack had loved Maria, but they had always seemed to walk different paths and dance to different tunes - tunes that had become increasingly discordant as the years had passed. She wasn't sure exactly what was left of the relationship that had seen them marry, but she didn't think there was much.  
  
"Good idea, Martin. When she gets back, I'll talk to her."  
  
Something in her tone made him frown. "Gets back?" he asked.  
  
She told him then what, so far as she was aware, only she knew. "She's away." Jack had provided her with that information a few nights ago, when she'd asked if he'd called Maria to let her know he'd be late. She'd taken to reminding him of things like that in the hopes of helping him avoid the inevitable phone calls from, and arguments with, his wife when he forgot.  
  
Again, she answered his unspoken question, saying, "When something big like this comes up, Maria often takes the kids and goes somewhere. Face it: it can be hard to be married to someone involved in this kind of work. Even harder if they have the kind of obsession Jack has for what he does. When one of his cases deviates from the typical 9-5 schedule condusive to family life, when she knows that he won't have time for her or the girls, she tends to remove herself. She may think it makes it easier for him to concentrate on the case."  
  
"She can't, not with this one. It'd be crazy."  
  
Perhaps, but Vivian knew she was gone. She also knew how affected Jack had been when he'd found the first boy. He'd gone home carrying that and the guilt he felt about it. She didn't know what had been said, if anything, but she did know Maria had left the day the second body had been found; she hadn't hung around to see what he had to say that Thursday night.  
  
"Well, we'll see," she said diplomatically. "Now, where are your notes on the DeCamp girl?"  
  
She looked at Martin and knew he had more questions. She gave him a look, however, that told him that her expansiveness about Jack's personal life had come to an end. He hesitated, then nodded and turned to walk to his desk.  
  
Briefly, she wondered why she'd even felt the need to explain so much. Watching Martin as he stood over his desk gathering his notes, she decided it was his youth: he was still young and idealistic, and she sometimes worried how he would handle discovering an idol was less than perfect. She sighed, deciding she had done the right thing by giving him a glimpse into a real marriage. She had a feeling that before this was over, Jack would need everyone's understanding.  
  
As Martin moved towards her with a stack of papers, she fought against the worry that pressed against her. She recognised the madness in the message Jack had received. This was not going to go away in a day or so....  
  
Sighing, she reached up and smiled her thanks as Martin passed her the reports. The team would be the only glue to hold Jack together if his guilt and self-doubt got too bad. For better or worse, as the only support system he'd have, they had to be there for him.  
  
End Chpater 16 


	15. chapter 17

The Cost Chapter 17  
  
When Jack emerged from Paula Van Doren's office two hours later, Van Doren came with him. If either was surprised that they were met by the whole team already sitting around the meeting table, they did not show it.  
  
Jack took one end of the table, Van Doren the other.  
  
Van Doren quickly informed the team that she had spoken with her superiors. Though Spaulding had not directly identified himself in the phone messages Jack had received, there was no doubt that he was behind both the calls and the murders. With Malone the focus of his dementia, it had been proposed that Jack be pulled from the direct investigation and act in an advisory capacity with NCAVC, which would take over direct control of the case.  
  
The team stirred at this suggestion, looking at one another in dismay. Martin and Danny in particular felt they were entitled to play a role in finding Spaulding. Martin opened his mouth to speak, but Van Doren cut him off.  
  
"However," she said, raising a hand to prevent any comment, "after a lot of negotiating, it has been agreed that the case will remain with Missing Persons and with your team. Graham Spaulding - whose present location is unknown - has been identified as missing and will become this team's focus."  
  
Those disappearances and murders which were deemed a part of Spaulding's agenda would also be referred to their team.  
  
"It is obvious Spaulding is committing these murders and obvious he is not going to stop until we stop him. You have at your disposal any of the resources you require from whatever department you require. Call people in as you need them," she'd said.  
  
Nearing the end of her monologue, she instructed them, "You are going to eat, sleep, and drink this case until Spaulding's caught." Looking at Jack, she said, "I want to be kept in the loop. I don't want screw ups. I don't want heroics. And I definitely," she finished, taking time to look at each of them individually, "don't want you playing by any rules other than the Bureau's. Am I understood?"  
  
When the team indicated that they did, Van Doren gave a satisfied nod. "Good luck, then," she said, and left.  
  
Everyone's attention then turned to Jack. Before, when under fire over the Anwar Samir fiasco and his actions during the Andy Deaver case, there'd been an anger and an air of defiance beneath his calm exterior. His determination had lent a sharpness to his movements and a focus that had given them confidence. Without consciously realising it, they looked for that focus and determination now.  
  
Jack leaned his forearms on the table in front of him and began to speak. "The kind of interdepartmental leeway we've been given doesn't happen often. Van Doren's gone to the wall for us, and she'll be held accountable if we mess up, so let's make sure we don't let her down. Serial killers aren't our jurisdiction and we're going to have to make sure every step we take is the right one. That means I intend to use those outside resources she spoke about when we need them. NCAVC and CASMIRC have their nose out of joint over this, and will be watching us like hawks. We'll use them as we need them. The BAU may come in handy, as well."  
  
Samantha listened carefully. Watching him closely, she realised something the others couldn't: he'd been rehearsing this speech since the night he'd tiredly lain his head on the back of her sofa and said, "We have to find him and stop him." He'd wanted this right from the start, and now, for better or worse, he had it.  
  
She hoped to God it was for the better.  
  
Jack finished by giving them their assignments. The first thing on their agenda was to profile Spaulding. "We're going to know him better than his own mother," he promised. Rising, he picked up the papers he had placed in front of him. "We have a head start: she didn't know he was a homicidal pedophile."  
  
Vivian looked at him intently. He was an excellent profiler; one of the best. In his state of mind, though, she wondered how much harm getting into Spaulding's head might cause him. He didn't have the safety net of a supportive life outside his job, didn't talk easily - not even to her, and she'd worked with him for a decade or so and had once been a listening ear for him. Lately, that had ended. He'd become withdrawn, especially once he'd moved back in with Marie. Perhaps, she thought, his wife should be called. When she returned home, he was going to need her support.  
  
She looked around the table at the people there, her glance stopping when it fell on Samantha. It was almost too bad, she thought, that- she stopped herself right there. Not her life, not her business.  
  
At least, not yet.  
  
End Chapter 17 


	16. Chapter 18

Hi there. Just a little more madness. Thank you for the words of encouragement, they're appreciated! Have a great weekend, and hopefully I'll see you next week with more!  
  
The Cost Chapter 18  
  
Spaulding sat in his darkened room and smiled. He'd wait, he decided, for Jack to find number three, before he picked up number five...  
  
...For that's what they were to him now: numbers. Numbers to chalk up for Jack. Numbers that gave him momentary pleasure and then long term satisfaction when their bodies were found and presented to Malone.  
  
Relaxing back into his chair, he placed his arms on the armrests and nodded to himself, pleased. He could wait; he knew who the boy would be, had picked him out easily at a grocery store where the lad worked as a bag boy. He would be, he thought, absolutely delicious. And Jack would be so impressed...and would be even more so when he was presented with the next one...  
  
After number six, he thought perhaps he'd take a small vacation; let Jack stew a little while. Let the voices of all the dead little boys plague him, reminding him of his failure and powerlessness. Let the disquiet over his ineptitude grow, let the questions and murmurs begin...  
  
He smiled more broadly. Yes. A vacation would be nice. Somewhere warm, he thought, where he could sit on a beach and enjoy watching the suntanned bodies of virile soon-to-be-men. He raised his hands and steepled his fingers in front of him.  
  
Who'd have thought a lost fifteen minutes could lead to so much enjoyment?  
  
His eyes hardened. Next time, maybe Malone would keep his promises.  
  
His mood quickly changing again, he brought his steepled fingers to his lips, pressing them hard to contain his giggle. His insides trembling with joy, he decided he really had to remember to thank Malone again, soon.  
  
Very soon.  
  
End Chapter 18 


	17. Chapter 19

The Cost Chapter 19  
  
Though Jack Malone and his team had no way of knowing it, Graham Spaulding had a very detailed plan that was going precisely as he wanted. In the week since Van Doren had given them the green light to pursue Jack's tormentor, the third boy he'd murdered had been found, lodged behind a dumpster in an alley over in Flushing, near where Utopia and Clearview met at the Cross Island Expressway. The day after the murder was reported in the papers and before the team had identified the body, a young teen by the name of Jeffrey Miles disappeared on his way home from the grocery store where he worked part time as a bag boy. Jeffrey had been seen entering an alley he often used as a short cut home.  
  
No one saw him emerge on the other side.  
  
His body was found two days later on the edge of a park near the Verranzo Bridge. He had been clothed after the requisite number fifteen and the four plus signs identifying him as the fifth victim had been slashed into his body. The autopsy report said he had been still alive - barely - when his shirt had been placed over the wounds. Blood evidence showed that the body had been moved to the park after he had died.  
  
Before the team had time to catch its breath, it was confronted with another grisly discovery...  
  
In the Upper West Side, Mrs. Claudia Banks, a retired school teacher thankful for her husband's more than adequate pension, lived by herself on the main floor of an old brownstone long ago subdivided into small, neat apartments. Rising early, she looked out her window and onto the small square of yard she thought of as her garden. It had rained the night before. The shade-loving impatiens she'd recently planted looked bright and colourful, and the lawn had recovered some of its green. Nodding with satisfaction, she paused and then frowned when something caught her eye: someone was propped up against the back of the house across from her own. Obviously another homeless drunk, she thought. Must have slept out all night: his t-shirt and pants were dark with rain. Opening her blinds wider, and with the light gradually increasing as the morning progressed, she squinted her eyes, pressing her round face up as close to the window as she could. He shouldn't be there. Someone would have to go ask him to move. Knowing from experience that someone would have to be her, she decided to forego the usual call to the police and simply ask the poor man to move herself. Grabbing her coat from the hook beside her back door, she went out. Crossing the small, neatly mowed space that separated her brownstone building from the one behind it, she soon stood over what was to be officially listed as Spaulding's sixth - and, for a few weeks, at least - final victim.  
  
She saw the blood. She saw the half opened eyes.  
  
She began to scream...  
  
* * *  
  
The latest discovery had the team sitting around the table, going over what they knew so far.  
  
"His name is Barry Miller; bit of a troublemaker; nothing too serious, just not someone you'd want dating your daughter. Looked younger than his age. No one thought much of it when he didn't show up at work for a couple days - he often didn't. His friends didn't report him missing for three days because he often disappeared occasionally when he'd pissed someone off he shouldn't have and was lying low." Martin sat back in his chair. "Quite a guy, huh?"  
  
Jack frowned. "Not Spaulding's usual. He goes for self-conscious, quiet types."  
  
"Maybe he didn't have time to pick and choose this time," Martin suggested.  
  
Jack shook his head. Instinct told him Spaulding had done this, but he hesitated. He might be missing something, making an error in judgement somehow. "Serial killers usually stick to type," he said cautiously. "This doesn't seem right."  
  
"He's the right build, the right age," Danny offered.  
  
"Yeah, but the personality is all wrong. The walk, the demeanor, wouldn't have been right for Spaulding to pick him out," he persisted, even though when he stepped inside Spaulding's head, he knew Spaulding had stopped caring about type and now looked only for opportunity.  
  
"Could it be a copy cat?"  
  
The question came from Samantha. Everyone turned to look at her. "Well," she said, defending her question, "there's been enough in the papers..."  
  
She was right: the public had needed to be warned and certain information had been made known. In theory, of course, there was no way of knowing about the plus signs, but things had a way of getting out, even if they weren't put in the papers.  
  
Jack paused a moment, then spoke. "I'm going to talk to Terry Baldwin, see what he thinks," he said, naming a well-known member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. "He's busy with the B&B cases at the moment, but it's worth a try to get his opinion."  
  
Vivian nodded in agreement. Jack had worked with Baldwin often in the past, and she knew he was one of the best profilers around. She also knew that Jack and he were close friends. Terry would take the time, no matter how busy he was. "He's in town, taking a look at the Jane Doe murder victim on Pier 62," she said. "Want me to track him down?"  
  
Jack nodded. "Tell him we'll see him any time he wants; I'll buy him a beer for his trouble."  
  
Vivian smiled. "I think he'll want more than that, Jack. You maybe better see if you can run down some Nicks tickets, too." She paused. "Perhaps I'd better just tell him you'll owe him. You two can work out who owes who what; I lost track a long time ago."  
  
Her response drew a rare smile. "You and me both!" His smile still lingering, he added, "He's not above taking advantage of that - I could be in trouble." He tapped the desk with his pen. "It'll be good to see him again."  
  
The rest of the team, who had not worked so long with Jack, looked at each other in surprise. They'd all heard of Baldwin, of course, and knew he'd been called in occasionally in the past, but Jack had the reputation of being one of the best profilers in the business. They wondered what his deciding to call in someone else meant.  
  
Jack looked at them, knowing pretty much what was going on in their minds, but not feeling up to allaying their fears. "I don't know how much time Terry will have to spend with us," he said, "but if you have the chance, learn from him. He's the best." Rising, he left, knowing Vivian would take care of some of their curiosity, at least.  
  
End Chapter 19 


	18. Chapter 20

The Cost Chapter 20  
  
"Fuck it," Martin said, throwing his pen so that it bounced against the cork board and landed on his desk with a clatter. "This sonofabitch has grabbed six kids in three weeks. How the hell can he do that and nobody see anything? How can he leave one in someone's fucking backyard, and no one notice 'til the next day?"  
  
"We're all asking ourselves that, Harvard. Maybe this Baldwin guy will explain how Spaulding makes himself invisible," Danny said.  
  
"We should be so lucky," Martin muttered. "I'm still not sure why we're spending so much time profiling the creep when we know who he is, already."  
  
"So we can figure out when and who he'll choose next," Samantha said in a practical tone.  
  
"Yeah, I know," Martin said with a wave of his hand, "but I want to get this guy now - before he gets another kid, not after."  
  
"We all do," Vivian said in a soft, quiet voice. As usual, her calm, velvet- warm tone put an end to Martin's display of frustration.  
  
Samantha's phone rang. When she hung up, the look on her face had them all waiting expectantly. "That was Jack. Baldwin's here. He wants me to go in and describe my impressions of the first couple of victims." She sat there, unmoving, for some reason reluctant to go.  
  
She looked over at Jack's office. The blinds had been closed for a few days now. Baldwin must have got in there somehow without anyone noticing. She wondered if that had been intentional, and then wondered why she was bothering to wonder...  
  
"Well, don't just sit there, Samantha," Vivian encouraged her, "They're waiting! And don't worry about Terry: there's not much you can hide from him, but he's been a friend of Jack's since their days in Quantico - he won't bite."  
  
"Yeah, and you can tell us what God looks like when you come back," Danny joked about the well-known profiler, wondering how the hell the guy had got past their area without being seen.  
  
Danny's levity broke down some of the unexpected nervousness Samantha felt. Smiling, she rose. "His presence is supposed to blind, isn't it?" Bending over slightly, she smoothed the front of her skirt, then quipped, "That could be very bad for my career."  
  
Danny grinned. "Need sunglasses? You can borrow mine."  
  
Samantha stuck out her tongue at him and turned towards Jack's office.  
  
End Chapter 20 


	19. Chapter 21

The Cost Chapter 21  
  
Samantha left after an hour of giving impressions and answering questions she wasn't always sure really pertained to the case. When the door closed behind her, Jack turned his attention towards Baldwin and frowned. "What the hell was that all about?"  
  
"How long have you two been an item?"  
  
Jack stilled. "What do you mean?"  
  
Consciously resisting the urge to put his size twelve feet on Jack's desk - Jack hated that - Baldwin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Don't mess with me, Jack, you know better. What's going on with you and the blond?"  
  
"Her name's Samantha, and you're here to help me with Spaulding," Jack said, his expression closed.  
  
"And I will. For the record, my guess is he'll take a break soon. I'll tell you more after you tell me about Samantha." He looked at Jack steadily, his hazel eyes knowing.  
  
Jack tried to stare his friend down, but to no avail. Finally, he lowered his eyes. "There's not much I want to tell."  
  
"I didn't suppose there was. You having an affair?"  
  
Jack made a quick, negative movement with his head. "It ended a while ago."  
  
Hiding his surprise, Terry Baldwin made a harumphing sound. Looking straight at Jack, he took his time as he said, "It ain't ended, pal."  
  
"It is. Maria found out. It wasn't pretty. She doesn't know who, I don't think, but she asked the question and I had to answer. She told me to move out, and I did, but we're back together now. Have been for a while."  
  
Baldwin looked at the door Samantha had just passed through. Ignoring everything Jack had just said, he commented, "You've both got it bad."  
  
Jack held his friend's gaze, then dropped his eyes. "Maybe, but it's over, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped making it sound like a teenage crush," Jack said, beginning to sound annoyed.  
  
"It's definitely not over. And it ain't no crush, either; that's what concerns me."  
  
"Concerns you? How? It was wrong and it was stupid and it was over months ago."  
  
"I don't buy that or the past tense, Jack. This is me, you're talking to, remember?"  
  
Jack looked at him and felt the tension he'd been holding drain away. Shaking his head ruefully, he allowed his shoulders to slump in a wordless admission of defeat. "Somehow I knew you'd say that."  
  
They sat in silence a moment, then Terry said, "You're thinking it feels good to talk to someone who isn't condemming you straight off."  
  
"That's fairly observant of you, Terry," Jack said, remembering another who had guessed Sam's importance to him but who had not been so forgiving.  
  
"Who knows?"  
  
"Van Doren."  
  
"That's all?"  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
"I'm surprised she didn't kick your ass."  
  
"She wanted to."  
  
Terry smiled. "I'll bet. It doesn't fit your profile - or wouldn't have, if I hadn't just met Samantha. Interesting choice, but she's good for you, isn't she?"  
  
"Yeah," he said, ignoring the 'interesting choice' part deliberately. "But not, under the circumstances. Sam and I are over, period. We have to be. Maria and I are trying to work things out."  
  
Terry grunted. "You and Maria have been trying to work things out since you met. You know I like her, but I still say you two should have thought it out more before you married. Your needs are too different. Neither one of you can meet the other's expectations. It's crazy you keep trying."  
  
Jack shrugged. "We've done okay. We've got two beautiful girls."  
  
"I know," Baldwin replied slowly, "but that's not enough, is it?"  
  
"Most of the time, it's okay."  
  
"But you're not happy," Terry said prodding him more.  
  
There was a long pause. "No, not happy." He almost blinked in surprise at the relief he felt in finally admitting that.  
  
"Well," Terry said, crossing one long leg over the other, "I'm not going to psycho-analyse you. But I can tell you this: whatever it is going on between you and Samantha is not going to go away because you think it should or because you say it will. I admire and understand what you're trying to do and why, and I wish you all the best." He paused, his face becoming even more serious. "I can also tell you that I know what this case is doing to your head. Samantha does, too. She's worried about you."  
  
Which, Baldwin added silently, was more than his wife was. He paused, wondering how much he could say. Thinking of the conversation he'd had with Jack before Samantha had been asked in decided him. Taking a deep breath, he began to talk. "Samantha answers a number of your needs that Maria doesn't - and I'm not talking sex here, okay?" he added quickly as Jack's back straightened. "Unless she's changed a lot in the past year or so, Maria doesn't understand what your job demands of you the way she does," he said, cocking his head in the direction Samantha had gone.  
  
Discretion kept him from adding that Samantha wouldn't blame him the way his wife did, either.  
  
"Samantha's intuitive when it comes to you," he continued. "Hell, you say as much to each other in body language and looks as you do in words." He smiled slightly. "I think she might even understand you, scary as that thought might be. That understanding can help you sort things out while this case is going on."  
  
"So you're throwing me into my ex-lover's arms? Bad advice, Terry, very bad advice."  
  
"I dunno, is it? Who said anything about arms? Not me. I'm just talking about talking. I want what's best for you and your mental well being. I'm advising you to use the support system you have already in place. She seems to fit the profile, so it's her I'm recommending, that's all. She doesn't have the look of a woman who's determined to seduce you back into her arms: my guess is she helped you make the decision you made, so don't use that as an excuse for not talking to her about what's going on in your head. You need to talk to someone, buddy. If I hadn't met Samantha, I'd be telling you to talk to Vivian. Hell, maybe talk to the both of them. You need to talk so that you can keep perspective and not let this carry you away with it. You need to go over things so that they don't eat at you."  
  
And you need to be able to go over things with someone who isn't going to make you feel it's all your fault, he added silently.  
  
"Yeah, well, what's eating me now is that you're not spending enough effort on profiling Spaulding."  
  
Baldwin smiled, knowing he'd pushed as far as Jack would allow. This case had shaken him worse than anything he'd ever seen had, but Jack was tough; he'd survive. How well he survived would depend upon whether he looked after himself or not.  
  
"You hear what I'm saying?" he persisted.  
  
"Yeah, I hear you."  
  
"Then pay attention. All I'm asking is that you slow down and pass things by someone you trust, someone who can understand you and give you a balanced perspective."  
  
"Enough already. I know what you're saying." He knew, and it frightened him. He'd done a damned good job of pushing Samantha out of his life after he rescued her from that bookstore. Now, she was slipping back into it and he didn't know if he had the strength to keep her where he needed her to be in order to keep his marriage where it needed to be. He sighed.  
  
Terry gave his friend a long look. "Okay," he said, knowing it was time to change the topic. "One beer gets you what I told you earlier. It'll cost you two beer to hear that he might even leave the city. He'll sit back and enjoy imagining all the discomfit he's causing you. He'll read the newspapers, look for television reports. Then, when he thinks you think it's all over, or when he can't stand not being the centre of your thoughts, he'll return and start all over again..." With this his beginning, he continued to analyze the dark recesses of Graham Spaulding's madness.  
  
End Chapter 21 


	20. Chapter 22

Happy Monday! Here are the next few installments. Hope you enjoy them.  
  
The Cost Chapter 22  
  
The team watched Terry Baldwin leave Jack's office and walk into Van Doren's. When Jack emerged a moment later, they converged on him. "What'd he say about the sixth victim?" Martin asked.  
  
Jack turned to look at the younger man. "He doesn't think it's a copycat, but he'll take a look at everything we've got to make sure. Terry's take on it so far is that Spaulding didn't have time to find his perfect type so settled for less. He was willing to do so because at the moment, his primary goal isn't so much his own physical pleasure as it is to present me with bodies."  
  
"So sexual gratification comes second?"  
  
"Spaulding's reaching the point where he's getting as much pleasure out of thwarting me as he is in his sexual encounters with the victims. Maybe more."  
  
"So he might choose anyone."  
  
"Within reason, yes," Jack agreed. "When he has the chance, though, he will always revert to type. Terry will be in to talk to everyone tomorrow, though. Tonight, he wants to go over everything we can put together for him. Get what you can ready while he's in with Paula."  
  
With those last instructions, Jack returned to the refuge of his office.  
  
* * *  
  
Terry left Van Doren's office and walked over to pick up the files the team had assembled on the conference table for him. Arms full, he strode though the cubicle area and stopped at Vivian's desk.  
  
"Got a minute?" he asked in a voice low enough not to be overheard.  
  
Vivian looked up at his ruggedly worn face and smiled, unsurprised he was asking. "For you? Always," she replied in an equally quiet tone.  
  
"Let's go for a coffee. Meet me at Marks, across the street."  
  
A few moments after he disappeared into the elevator, she rose. Letting the others know she'd decided to take a break, she headed for the coffee shop.  
  
* * *  
  
After the usual catching up, Terry leaned his tweed clad arms on the luncheon counter. Clasping long-fingered hands around his coffee mug, he asked quietly, "How's Jack doing?"  
  
Knowing this, and not the chat about vacations and mutual friends was why he had asked her to come, Vivian's tone dropped to meet his. "Pretty well, considering, I guess. He's having a hard time: he's blaming himself for all this."  
  
"Especially after going home?"  
  
She nodded, unsurprised by his perception. "Maria left when it first started," Vivian said, "but she could only stay away so long. Now that she's back, though..." Her voice petered off.  
  
"Now that's she's back, he's coming into work feeling a little more responsible, a little more tired, a little more uncertain."  
  
She nodded. "You know everything is always his fault in her eyes. She has this idea he controls everything - or should - and when something doesn't go right-"  
  
"He's to blame."  
  
She nodded again. "And he definitely doesn't need that right now. I know she doesn't mean to do that to him, but I've never seen him so close to second guessing himself every time he makes a decision. He didn't need to call you in: he knew damned well this last victim wasn't a copycat, but he's hesitating all over the place. He's too afraid of misjudging the situation. It's not like him."  
  
"Has the team started to notice?"  
  
"I think so. Some more than others."  
  
"Has anyone suggested he stay in town 'til this is over?"  
  
"I'm sure he's thought about it, but under the circumstances, I don't think he'd dare."  
  
Hearing her tone, he read between the lines and looked at her sharply. "You know," he stated. "About him and-"  
  
"Yeah," she said with a half smile. "I've known Jack as long as you, remember. He was pretty happy there, for a while. Not that I entirely approved, mind you, but he was definitely happy." She shook her head, remembering. "It was kinda nice to see. In some weird way, the affair made him come alive, made him sharper, somehow. And they were very discreet."  
  
"But you're a very sharp observer."  
  
She smiled. "That's right."  
  
"And also very discreet."  
  
She nodded wordlessly.  
  
"Has it been going on for long? Jack and I haven't talked much inmore than a year. I'd never have guessed..." He shook his head. "Sometimes it's hard to keep up."  
  
"I think it started before they even knew it started," she said with a touch of humour. "And you know Jack: I don't think being unfaithful ever crossed his mind." She shook her head. "She walked in the first day, and there was an immediate connection between them. They just kinda played off each other really well. The affair didn't start for a year or more, though. It caught him by surprise, I think, and he was in deep before he realised what was going on and what it might cost him. I don't think he knew what hit him."  
  
Terry grunted. "He still doesn't." Thinking a moment, he asked, "Does he still take your advice?"  
  
"Occasionally."  
  
"It'll do him good to not go home nights if he's coming back the way you say he is. I know all about Maria's frustration with what a case like this does to their homelife, but her reaction isn't doing him any good. It sounds as though she's making him feel he's responsible for this mess, and that's not helping the situation. Spaulding is going after Jack's perception of himslef. He's trying to make Jack question who he is and the value and quality of what he does. It looks like he's starting to succeed. The last thing he needs right now is to have someone close to him constantly questioning his reason or doubting his ability, or suggesting that he's making mistakes or misjudging things."  
  
He was preaching to the choir. "I know that and you know that," Vivian said. "Jack, however, even if he knows it too, isn't going to want to put more stress on the marriage and the family."  
  
Mention of the family made him look at her sharply. "She's being nasty about the girls?"  
  
Remembering back to the time of the Delia Rivers case and Maria's reaction to that particular situation, she nodded. Plunking his family down in his office as a public criticism of his inability to keep his children safe had been a well aimed psychological low blow. She was certain a need for revenge for his affair had played a big factor. "I think so. What other weapon would she have? All sorts of guilt there, if she plays her cards right."  
  
"Then it needs to come from somewhere else. In writing."  
  
"Van Doren?"  
  
"Van Doren. Maria won't be happy, but at least she won't think Jack's doing it to be with someone. Can you handle it?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Baldwin took a last sip of his coffee and prepared to rise. A hand on his arm stopped him. "Terry, thanks. I was real glad when he said he was going to call you in."  
  
He nodded, hazel eyes under their bushy brows warm with understanding. "We've all been friends too long, haven't we? I think he called me in just to hear me say what I said this morning. Hell, he did the same thing with me five years ago when Stella and I-" He stopped abruptly. Vivian knew that whole, sordid story already; no point in going over it again. "Anyways, I owe him. He gave me good advice back then; I gave him good advice today. Doesn't mean he'll take it," he added ruefully, "but that's beside the point."  
  
They sat in silence a moment, remembering. Finally, he shook his head. "If he weren't so damed worried about making a wrong decision right now, he'd have just as good a profile on this creep as any I could come up with, and he knows it." Another pause, and his mood changed as he thought of something else. He looked at her and smiled, his strongly boned face suddenly boyish. "If he hadn't called me, you were going to, right?"  
  
She cocked her head to one side and smiled up at him. "Trying to impress me with your intuition?" She shook her head. "We'll never know, will we?"  
  
He grinned broadly, flashing large, white teeth. Standing, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a five dollar bill. Tossing it on the counter, he said, "I think I can guess." Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you guys tomorrow," he said, before gathering up his files and turning to leave the coffee shop.  
  
She watched his tall, lean figure walk out the door and turn down the street, glad for his presence, no matter how temporary. After he had been gone for exactly three minutes, she rose, mentally preparing herself to meet with Van Doren.  
  
End Chapter 22 


	21. Chapter 23

The Cost Chapter 23  
  
Graham Spaulding sat back in his rented sun chair and relaxed. He'd enjoyed reading about himself in the newspapers, enjoyed chuckling over the fuzzy pictures presented to the public as the man the FBI was looking for. That man looked nothing like him now. Longer hair dyed chestnut, a moustache, and a neatly trimmed beard had taken care of that. His colourless eyes now gleamed a startling blue, thanks to the people at 'Eyes R Us' and their quality, low cost contact lenses. He sighed contentedly, letting the warmth of the late afternoon sun seep through him. Life was very good.  
  
And would soon get better.  
  
With the fake id he'd painstakingly accumulated, he'd managed to transfer funds into several new local accounts from his numbered account in the Caymans. He had money, a new identity...a new life, if you like. It was easy - if you were monied and smart, which he was, of course. In fact, he thought, there was only one thing standing between himself and complete happiness.  
  
Jack Malone.  
  
A wave of hatred made him clench his fists. Jack wouldn't last much longer. Soon, he'd have more little castoffs thrown his way. Soon, Jack's failure to find him and bring him to his self-righteous version of justice would draw attention to his incompetencies and failures. He would be losing credibility already. Soon, he'd be regarded as a liability and yes, would, after that, be cast out, just as he himself had been cast out from the life he had enjoyed.  
  
Soon.  
  
Restlessly, he decided perhaps it was time to leave his beach paradise. There were things he needed to do back in the city: finding more suitable living accommodations being one of them. The abandoned building had been fine for the first 6 kills, but he thought a new setting would be nice. Besides, he missed Jack. Gazing at a young teen he'd been eying all week, he wondered if perhaps Jack would like a post card...Picking up his chair to return it to the rental kiosk, he nodded to himself. He really ought to send his greetings.  
  
Jack might like a little fun in the sun.  
  
End Chapter 23 


	22. Chapter 24

Ooops. One more chapter, ready to go. Thanks to any and everyone still hanging in with this!  
  
The Cost Chapter 24  
  
"Jack"  
  
Returning from an early morning talk with forensics, Jack stopped at the sound of his name and looked over the top of Samantha's cubicle wall. "Yeah?"  
  
"I took a call from Miami PD while you were gone. They've got a body on South Beach that matches Spaulding's handiwork: a number 15 cut into it, with some plus signs." Passing him the paper on which she'd written the name and number of the person who'd phoned, she added, "They want you to call ASAP."  
  
Jack held the paper as though it were poisonous. They'd had almost two weeks with no new activity on Spaulding's part. During that time they had gathered some new forensic information, but it was not enough for them to determine where Spaulding was living or where he was murdering these boys. Now it appeared Spaulding had taken his show on the road. His heart sank. This would only increase the pressure to have the case taken from him. Trying to ignore the sense of panic that sent through him, he let out a long breath. "Vacation's over."  
  
"Guess so," she said, hating the look in his eyes when he turned them to meet hers. "We knew it was going to happen," she reminded him gently.  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. I'll go make the call, then talk to Van Doren. Someone'll have to go down there."  
  
* * *  
  
Armed with all the information the sergeant he spoke with could give him, Jack tapped on Van Doren's door and stepped inside. "There's a body down in South Beach. Looks like Spaulding's handiwork," he told her. After sitting when she motioned him to do so, he quickly gave her a run down of what they knew so far.  
  
"Who's going?" she asked when he was finished.  
  
Jack shrugged. "Danny and Vivian, I suppose," he said, naming his two senior team members.  
  
Van Doren shook her head. "They aren't your first choice."  
  
When he didn't respond immediately, Paula said, "You need to go yourself, Jack, and you know it. It'd be difficult for Vivian to go right now, and although Danny and Martin would be good choices, I think Samantha would be the best one. You two work well together and she's the most uninvolved member of your team in regards to the Andy Deaver case. That gives her a better perspective, don't you think?"  
  
Jack looked at her in surprise. "I thought-"  
  
She raised a hand. "It doesn't matter what you thought. This is what's needed, and what's best. Which leads me to another topic," she said, giving him no time for further thought. "The request I made of you to move into the hotel for the remainder of this case: Have you done that yet?"  
  
Her request that he avail himself of a hotel room that the FBI kept on retainer for visitors had been unusual, but had been made in writing and accompanied by logical, logistical reasons for it being made. He nodded. "A couple nights ago."  
  
She frowned. She'd made the request a week ago.  
  
"Maria's okay with it?"  
  
He shrugged. "She didn't say much."  
  
Van Doren stifled a sense of impatience. She was willing to bet the woman had clammed up tighter than a mullusk. She stood by her decision, however. In the past, work had played havoc with Jack's personal life. In this line of work, that was a given. Now, his personal life - his relationship with Maria, to be precise - was playing havoc with his job and his ability to perform it. She could not, would not, allow that to continue. Still grateful that Vivian had apprised her of the situation, she nodded with satisfaction. "Good. In the long run, until this case is finished, it's better if you're nearby. There's no point in disturbing your family with insane hours and middle of the night arrivals and departures. I'm sure Maria will understand."  
  
He nodded, knowing that she didn't. He also had the sinking feeling that these days, he was damned in Maria's eyes no matter what he chose to do.  
  
"So," Van Doren said, her tone telling him their conversation was reaching its end, "make travel arrangements for you and Samantha and get out of here. Call when you get there."  
  
He rose to leave, but paused when Van Doren looked up at him and said, "Jack, you're the only person I'd want on this job. You've more knowledge, more ability and more insight than most agents have in their left hand. You need to cut yourself some slack. Don't blame yourself for Spaulding - he got the way he is without your help."  
  
He nodded, surprised by her words, but by no means convinced she was right.  
  
There were some blots on a man's soul words couldn't erase.  
  
* * *  
  
When he closed the door, Van Doren sat back and watched him through her windows as he walked towards Samantha's desk. She shook her head. She still didn't know what the hell was going on with him and Agent Spade. She'd thought she had for a while, but the aftermath of the Barry Mashburn affair had surprised her: she'd thought Jack had made an obvious statement with his actions that night, but instead, after a brief visit to Samantha's hospital room, he'd gone home. He'd visited her at the hospital only once after that. Before Samantha had returned to work, he had moved back with his wife and children.  
  
When Samantha returned, there had been a definite tension between them, but none of the anger she had expected.  
  
In the time that had passed since then, he'd spent one night at Agent Spade's and seemed to be re-opening their friendship. She wasn't certain what that meant. She shrugged and gathered her thoughts together. It didn't matter what it meant. She wasn't here to play cupid, she was too practical a woman for that, after all - but she was certain that with Samantha with him, Jack would regain some of the psychological peace of mind he had lost. Whether she approved of them or not - if, indeed, they were even a 'them' any more - she had to admit they had seemed good for each other. She just had to make sure it was never discovered in how many ways.  
  
Looking down at her desk at a memo she had received earlier that morning, another, unwelcome concern skittered across her mind. A lot of noses were out of joint over this assignment, and the rumblings of discontent over it were increasing. The public, too, would eventually begin to question the choice of investigators if progress weren't made soon. Pressures were also building to have the team off their special assignment so that they could resume their regular duties. She looked back up towards where Jack had gone. That couldn't be allowed to happen before Malone had a decent shot at closing the case himself. She sighed, mentally comprising a list of favours to call in when the need arose.  
  
End Chapter 24 


	23. Chapter 25

Hello all.  
  
Happy Monday, and Happy Thanksgiving! Writing's going a bit slower, but here's this week's offering. In this chapter, I'm sorry about the unintentional duplication of the hand thing, but I'm leaving it in. Besides: it's in a different context and is certainly a less profound event here than it was in Revelations.  
  
I've got up to chapter 32 roughly written. Hopefully I'll have a couple more chapters fine tuned and another couple roughed out by next Monday. Wish me luck!  
  
Thanks as always to the people who take the time to review the story, both on ff and on Maple Street. You guys are great!  
  
The Cost Chapter 25  
  
Jack and Samantha arrived at the Miami airport in the early evening, picked up their rental car, and went straight to the morgue. After viewing the body and talking to the chief medical examiner, they had a brief meeting with the Miami police and then went to view where the body had been found...  
  
Standing in the blue and white striped tent that served as a beach chair rental kiosk, Jack frowned. The body had been drugged - an almost empty can of Coke had been found inside the tent with traces of choral hydrate and triazolam in the few ounces remaining in it. Retracing what he proposed had happened that night, he looked around. "So the kid was drugged; must have been after work, likely after he'd closed down the front awning," he said, seeing it all happen in his mind's eye as he spoke. "The medical examiner says she thinks he died sometime around midnight. When did the rental kiosk close?" he asked.  
  
"Around 8 p.m.," the Miami police officer accompanying them said. "He has to put the chairs away, and clean or repair anything as needed. His boss says he usually signed out between 8:30 and 8:45 p.m."  
  
"Why didn't anyone question his not coming up from the kiosk to sign out last night?" Samantha asked.  
  
The officer shrugged. "He was a kid. They were used to him not bothering to sign out until he came in for his shift the next day - that way, he didn't have to walk all the way up to the hotel; he could just head out from the beach."  
  
"His boss let him do that?" Jack asked.  
  
"The boss says he was a good employee. Didn't put in extra time, and worked hard. He wasn't going to quibble about how he signed out."  
  
"You check the boss out?" Jack asked out of reflex.  
  
Pleased that he'd been able to answer all the questions asked so far, the young officer nodded. "Yeah, he was at a neighbour's house playing cards until about one in the morning. He and his wife went home together and went straight to bed. Wife says she knows that he was in bed at three, because she was up to go to the bathroom then."  
  
Jack nodded, knowing it wasn't the boss who'd done this, anyway.  
  
He looked around the eight by ten enclosure once more, and again pictured what must have happened. Ricky Johnson had closed up, been interrupted by someone, accepted a drugged soda from that someone, fallen unconscious, and then been sexually assaulted and murdered.  
  
"He knew who did this," he said aloud. "He let someone in, accepted a drink from them." His heart beat faster. "I want to look at his sales records. There may be something there."  
  
The officer shook his head. "Not likely, sir. Rentals are only $25.00 a day. Most people pay cash. If they pay by credit card, they have to do it at the hotel. They get a chit and pass it in to the chairboy for a chair. Down here, they take names and stuff, but don't usually ask for ID. You could put down you were Captain Kirk, and if you had the twenty-five bucks, they wouldn't ask you any questions."  
  
"So why don't people just walk off with the chair at the end of the day?" Jack asked, curious.  
  
"They get ten dollars of the rental fee back when they return them."  
  
Jack nodded. Appeal to people's appreciation for cold, hard cash - it always worked. Still, he'd take a look at the credit card receipts at the hotel tomorrow - you never knew when you might get lucky. He frowned. "What happened to the cash, if Ricky didn't take it back to the hotel when he signed out?"  
  
"We checked that out, sir. They have security come down and pick up the cash at eight o'clock every night. A couple times the kids manning the place were mugged on their way back to the hotel with the cash, so it seemed a safer way of getting the money back and forth."  
  
"Who was the security guard?" Jack asked, surprised this hadn't been mentioned in his conversation with the Miami police earlier. "Except for the killer, he was likely the last person to see the boy alive."  
  
"I forget his name, but he checked out okay - he walked down to the kiosk and back with a buddy who had come to pick him up after his shift was over. We got his statement."  
  
Jack nodded, already deciding to speak to the man himself. Taking one last look around, he said, "I think we've seen all we can tonight. Thanks for the tour."  
  
"My pleasure," the young policeman said. He grinned, unwittingly making himself look still younger. "It sure beats the crap out of sitting at a desk all night."  
  
Jack glanced at his watch. Turning to Samantha, who had remained unusually quiet so far, he said, "We'd better get to the hotel before they close the restaurant if you still want to grab something to eat there."  
  
She smiled and allowed the young Miami officer to usher her out onto the broad, sandy beach.  
  
* * *  
  
Downstairs, Samantha would have bet Jack could have fallen asleep over his coffee. Now, riding the elevator to the third floor after dinner, she could almost feel the waves of exhaustion rolling off him. The dinner, she thought, had been a mixed success. She'd tried to raise the subject of Spaulding again, in the hopes of giving him the chance to talk. Just as he had done on the plane, however, he'd pointedly refused to be drawn into a conversation.  
  
Automatically reaching for her hand, he'd remembered himself and pulled back after a slight touch.  
  
"Not tonight, Sam," he'd said, turning his eyes away.  
  
Watching him, she'd known he was cursing himself for his lapse. She'd known since his visit to her apartment that when they were alone together, he struggled to maintain the remote manner towards her that he had mastered when at work. She did not regard that a bad thing. Somehow, it seemed more honest: each lapse - each touch or hug or kiss on the forehead - had seemed to her more a breakthrough, an admission of a truth he was running from.  
  
A few heartbeats of silence, and he'd turned his eyes back towards her and mustered a smile. "Let's just enjoy sharing a meal at Van Doren's expense, shall we?"  
  
She'd smiled in return, not happy about his avoiding the issue, but nodding anyway. If he said there'd be time, there'd be time. They'd had the opportunity, now and again, to talk. It'd been a while, though, since they'd last caught moments together that were significant, and she was certain part of his exhaustion was due to a building frustration and depression that this case was not progressing the way he needed it to in order to atone for his mistakes. She'd looked at him and felt her worry for him return. Guilt was growing inside him again, roiling around in his gut.  
  
Now, as the elevator took them closer to their rooms, an old, familiar tension began to build. Memories filled the small space, making a mockery of the distance they'd maintained since they'd said it was over. It had been in a motel room far removed from their lives in New York that their clandestine relationship had first been consummated. It had been in a motel similar to this that they had first touched, first kissed, and said their first, "We shouldn't be doing this," so quickly followed by their first, "Oh, God, please don't stop..." Perhaps it was for that reason their present location seemed far more dangerous than her apartment in New York had. The warm, close protection of anonymity swirled around them. No one would know. No one would care...  
  
Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she ignored the memories, for her sake and for his. That part of their relationship was over. It had to be.  
  
When the elevator doors opened, she stepped out and walked towards her room door. Taking out her door card, she paused as Jack walked by and stopped at the entrance of the room next to hers. Turning towards him, she said, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."  
  
He nodded. "You, too, Sam."  
  
They shared a glance, used their cards to release the door locks, and entered their respective rooms.  
  
Two hours later, she was still awake. Lying in bed in her favourite tank top and sleeping pants, she listened to the dull tones of late-night television coming from the other side of the wall and worried. He was likely as awake as she. Heaving a sigh of frustration, she tossed her covers aside and walked to the door connecting their rooms. For better or worse, she was going to have to get him to talk.  
  
End Chapter 25 


	24. Chapter 26

The Cost Chapter 26  
  
Knocking softly, she waited only a moment before she heard the connecting door's deadbolt slide back. The door swung open to reveal a Jack who, except for his jacket, tie, and shoes, was still fully dressed. A glance at the bed cover showed the impression of where he had been lying on top of it. The television was on.  
  
"Can't sleep?" she asked.  
  
"No point in trying," he said, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "This kid was number seven, Sam. Seven kids dead because I-"  
  
As she walked into his room and sat down on a chair to listen, it all came spilling out of him. He spoke slowly at times, building up speed when he berated himself for his failure to foresee the future, his failure to get inside Spaulding's head enough to figure out where he would be and what he would do next. She watched as he paced the floor, his arms leaving his sides to make a point, then falling again. She listened as he recounted what he should have done, what he shouldn't have done, and heard his long review of what they knew of each of the boys' lives and how they had died... The horror and senselessness of their deaths were engraved into his soul and conscience, a reminder of mistakes and failures he blamed himself for.  
  
Battered by his words, and with a sorrow filling her for the pain he felt that she could not ease, she eventually rose and stepped towards him. What she did next was not what she had intended to do - she'd have sworn that under oath - but the tortured look in his eyes made her put slender fingers against his lips to stop the flow of words.  
  
"Stop. Just stop," she whispered. When he did, she held his eyes with her own. His mouth felt warm under her touch and without thinking, she slid her fingers away and replaced them, for just a moment, with her lips. Moving back slowly, she placed her hands on each side of his face. "You've got to stop this..." she pleaded, desperate for him to do so. Placing a palm behind his head, she slowly drew him closer, bringing her lips against his once again. She felt him stiffen, then relax as, with a groan, he wrapped his arms around her. The pressure against her mouth increased, and she felt herself clutched tightly against him.  
  
* * *  
  
//I love him. I love him.// That mantra ran through her mind as they slowly removed their clothing and rediscovered the satisfaction of making love again. She loved him. Him. Painfully, joyfully, heartfully, she loved him. It was the wrong thing to feel and this the wrong thing to do... and both would get her nowhere and would provide her with nothing, in the end, but more pain... But grasping tightly onto this bit of heaven, she discovered she didn't care...It would be worth the cost...  
  
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be swept away...  
  
//I love her.// That mantra ran through his mind over and over again as they removed their clothing and rediscovered the satisfaction of making love. He loved her. Her. His life hurt, his love for her hurt, and what he was doing now, hurt. His feelings for her, what he was doing now...neither would get him anywhere, and would provide him with nothing, in the end, but more pain... But drawing her close against him, he found he didn't care...It would be worth the cost...  
  
Lost, he pulled her closer, and allowed himself to be swept away...  
  
* * *  
  
Several hours later, he awoke. The television had been turned off and the air conditioning turned up. Lifting his head to see the time, he lay back down softly. Four a.m. Still time. He exhaled softly and drew her closer to him. She had always kept the air conditioning on high, saying she liked having him keep her warm.  
  
Perhaps it was his sense of contentment that prevented it, perhaps it was simply a momentary inability to think clearly, but no worry about what they had just done or how it would be dealt with crossed his mind. For the first time in months, Jack allowed himself to live in the moment. No future. No past. No guilt. This was now, and it was good. Feeling safely sheltered, he gave a sleepy sigh, kissed her shoulder softly, and gratefully slid back into sleep.  
  
End Chapter 26 


	25. Chapter 27

Hi there. Just a note to say Happy Monday.  
  
Here are two chapters; I'm hoping to finalize another later this week. Devanie, EOlivet, Midnight Caller and Katherine: Thanks for your regular support, it's appreciated! And Maple Street: what did I do for entertainment before I found it?!  
  
The Cost Chapter 27  
  
Their wake up call came at 6:45. Immediately alert, Samantha rose on one elbow to look at the clock over Jack's shoulder as he reached to pick up the phone's receiver and then let it drop back down with a clatter. Seeing the time, she flopped her head back onto the pillow with a groan. "Damn. I forgot. They must have called me about five minutes ago." Making herself comfortable on his shoulder when he lay back down beside her, she said, "If anyone asks, I can always say I was in the shower and didn't hear," she said.  
  
"Ah, lies trip off our tongues so easily," Jack said, drawing closer to her.  
  
She stilled. Waking up with him had been so natural.  
  
It shouldn't have been.  
  
They lay together in silence. Finally, she moved away slightly and asked in a soft voice, "Jack? Are you okay with this? This isn't what I had in mind when I knocked on your door last night."  
  
It had been what she wanted, though.  
  
His eyes smiled at her. "Oddly enough, I believe you," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting. "And I'm okay with this, I think. It's been hard. I've missed you, Sam."  
  
It had been what he wanted; perhaps been what he needed.  
  
She lifted a hand to touch his cheek softly. "Me, too." Unable to squash her happiness completely, she grinned, "We're pretty hopeless, aren't we?" Now that it had happened, it seemed unbelievably inevitable.  
  
"Yeah," he said, "Terry says we've got it bad."  
  
Her eyes widened and she tensed. "Terry? Terry Baldwin?"  
  
"Relax," he said, stroking the arm she had laid across his stomach. While he memorized its warmth and texture, he responded, "After you talked to him in my office, he asked how long we'd been an item." He moved his head to nuzzle the hair.  
  
"'Got it bad'? 'Been an item'? Does he always talk like that?" she asked, her tone incredulous. "And how did he know?"  
  
He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then said, "He's a keen observer, Sam, and he talked to you for far longer than he needed to." He smiled. "Twenty minutes into the interview, I knew damned well he'd found out all he needed to know about the bodies. The rest of the time he was just fishing."  
  
"Did you deny it?"  
  
He shook his head. "No point, not with him." He lifted a hand to caress her cheek and smiled wryly. "He's known me a long time."  
  
"My God..." she said, thinking of the ramifications of his knowing.  
  
"He figures you're good for me."  
  
The words, and tone in which they were said, shook her out of her shock. "Of course I'm good for you."  
  
...Not for his marriage or his career, or his family, she added to herself silently, but I'm definitely good for him...  
  
Forcing her guilt away, she smiled. "Got it bad, eh?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
She snuggled closer and laid with him in silence a while longer. She wanted to ask what they were going to do now, how they were going to manage...sex had been as natural a part of their relationship as shared looks and silent communication. She did not want to go back to not sharing the intimacy of it with him, did not want to go back to pretending they were just co- workers, their affair behind them.  
  
She closed her eyes tightly, wanting this to continue just as it had before Maria had found out, before Jack had moved out, before he had said, "Yeah, it's over...", before he and Maria had decided to try again for the girls' sake...  
  
Her thoughts stopped as they smashed into reality. The girls. How could this possibly continue once they were back in New York?  
  
It couldn't.  
  
She lay there, riding the roller coaster of her thoughts and emotions, trying to make sense of what they had done. Finally giving up, she tilted her head to look at him and said, "Jack?"  
  
He opened his eyes. "Yeah?"  
  
"Perhaps we shouldn't have done this. I-" She didn't know how to continue.  
  
Neither did he. Of course they shouldn't have done this. But...  
  
"I think we needed to, Sam. This is us. All of us. The whole package."  
  
For better, or for worse.  
  
Desperately clutching the moment, he tried to push tomorrow away. "We'll deal with this when we need to. Let's just not worry about it now. I'm grateful. I'm happy. I'm not going to think about tomorrow, not in regards to us. Let's just let it be."  
  
She nodded, prepared to do just that, no matter the cost.  
  
He relaxed, though he could not completely push aside the coil of worry building in his stomach. Fighting it, he hugged her to him, trying to tell her without words how much a part of him she was and always would be, no matter what the future held. Then, kissing the top of her head, he said reluctantly, "We've got to get up."  
  
She nodded. Gently kissing the shoulder she had been resting her head upon, she rose. Picking up her tank top and pajama bottoms, she put them on and then walked towards their connecting door. "See you in thirty minutes," she said with a smile, before disappearing from sight.  
  
Jack nodded and turned towards his bathroom. In spite of the guilt he felt, he felt better today than he had in a long, long time. Making love with her had settled something deep inside him. Sharing his thoughts with her last night had helped give him perspective. Waking up with her this morning had been a dream come true.  
  
Everything that lay in between had been heaven.  
  
Reality and its own special hell would come later.  
  
End Chapter 27 


	26. Chapter 28

The Cost Chapter 28  
  
By day's end, they were able to say definitely that Spaulding had committed his seventh murder. They'd also discovered more: questioning any and everyone, they'd learned that there had been several 'regulars' on the beach during the last few weeks. None of them matched Spaulding's description. Only about half of them could be tracked down immediately. The rest, they knew, had likely been tourists - snow birds gone home. Anyone possible would be traced and questioned.  
  
After a long day of investigation, they had dinner at a nearby restaurant and then returned to their hotel. Jack's telephone message light was blinking, so he walked across the room and dialed the front desk.  
  
"You've a message for room 314?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, sir, just one moment," a young man responded. Jack heard paper rustling in the background as he continued, "The gentleman didn't leave his name, and asked that we write the message down, instead of his using our voice mail." The rustling sounds stopped. "Found it. It says, 'Hope you enjoyed your day at the beach. If you're wondering, fifteen minutes takes as long here as it does in New York. See you back in the city."  
  
Jack's blood turned to ice. "When was the message received?" he asked, his voice sounding strangled.  
  
"One fifteen this afternoon, sir."  
  
"Who took the message?"  
  
"I did. Just after I came on duty."  
  
"He said nothing more?"  
  
"No, sir. He asked for your room number, but of course we're not allowed to give out that information. When I told him that, he asked to leave the message. I suggested the voice mail, and he requested that I write it down. That's all I know, sir."  
  
Jack immediately went into interrogation mode. "Think carefully: was there background noise when he spoke to you? Traffic, or people talking...Was there anything that might have told you where he was making the call from?"  
  
The man at the other end of the phone paused. "No," he answered slowly. Jack could imagine his face scrunched up in concentration - and he could hear the disappointment in his voice when he finally added in a more confident tone, "No, I'm sorry. Nothing. He just asked for your room number and then left the message."  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Grant Sutherland. Is something wrong, sir?"  
  
"No, nothing's wrong. But if you think of anything else about the man or the message, Grant, I want you to let me know. I'll leave my card at the front desk. If there's anything you come up with after I leave, use the phone number on it."  
  
Jack hung up and turned to Samantha. "Spaulding left a message. He hopes I enjoyed my day at the beach, and he'll see me back in New York. The fifteen minutes here take as long as the fifteen minutes there."  
  
Samantha looked dismayed. "He was there this morning. On the beach, watching you. We didn't see him."  
  
Jack nodded. Sitting down of the bed, he said, "He's disguised himself somehow. I'm calling Paula to let her know about the message. We're going to have to stay at least another day. This call," he said, "may have been his first mistake. "  
  
End Chapter 28 


	27. Chapter 29

Happy Monday, everyone! Here's the next couple of chapters. I'm still busy trying to get to the end of this. I promise it's near - I'm hoping to tie everything up by chapter 38 or so. Wish me luck!  
  
Thanks as always for the comments and encouragement. You guys are the best!  
  
The Cost Chapter 29  
  
After his telephone conversation with Paula Van Doren, Jack hung up and turned towards Samantha. "She says good luck, and stay 'til we need to come back." Standing up, he started to pace the hotel room floor, then stopped himself. Purposefully, he sat himself down on the chair in front of the room's desk. "This is the first hint of a lead we've had in weeks."  
  
Sensing the hope growing within him, Samantha moved quietly to sit on the end of the bed facing him.  
  
"He's getting more desperate for my attention," Jack continued, his face thoughtful, "or he'd never have called; he'd have waited to contact me when he got back to New York - that would have given me more time to worry. He couldn't wait, though."  
  
"So maybe he's getting sloppy," she offered.  
  
Jack hoped so. But Spaulding was smart - insane, but definitely smart. "If he realises he's made a mistake, he'll become more careful again."  
  
"Then let's hope he doesn't." She rose and looked down at him, a glimmer of a smile on her lips.  
  
"What?" he asked, looking up at her.  
  
"This is more like the old you. You're not acting like this is all your fault: you're concentrating on the case, instead of your misplaced feelings of guilt."  
  
He stopped to take stock and discovered she was right. He felt the responsibility of needing to do his job right, but the worry of having done the wrong thing, the worry of making a mistake he'd have to carry home with him...that was gone.  
  
Hope was a wondrous thing.  
  
His eyes dark, he looked up at her and said in a low tone, "Let's go to bed. Allow me to experience guilt of another sort."  
  
A look crossed her face, making him immediately apologetic. Cursing himself, he quickly said, "Sam, I didn't mean it that way. I was joking."  
  
She stood still, reality's cold fingers clawing at her heart.  
  
Freudian slip, more like it.  
  
"You're going to feel guilty about this," she said, her face stricken. "I know how important your family is. I know that this..." she motioned her hands to indicate them both, "...this endangers that. Maria forgave you once, but she won't accept a second failure, Jack."  
  
She paused, grasping for words as the cold reality of their situation came crashing down over her. Last night had been nothing more than a brief wisp of fantasy; last night had been a throwback to when they had been foolish enough to think they could feel whatever they wanted to feel, do whatever they wanted to do... But they had learned the hard way that that was impossible. She'd been crazy to think- "Oh, God, Jack," she said, dismay colouring her words, "You're going to have to turn the clock back on us again and pretend this didn't happen when we're back in New York." The girls. She'd remembered them this morning and had set them aside. Now, they were an almost tangible presence in the room....  
  
She regarded him silently, sadness filling her. She didn't know if she could handle going back to what they had been after they'd called it off. Looking at his stricken face, however, she knew she would have to. This was the price she'd pay for last night. The price she'd pay for not thinking things through. The price she'd pay for taking what she wanted and saying the hell with the cost.  
  
He wasn't hers. She shouldn't have let herself pretend that he was.  
  
Jack looked at her wordlessly as she closed her eyes in pain. He desperately wanted to ignore the truth of what she said, and on one point, at least, she was mistaken: Maria hadn't forgiven his first failure, not yet.  
  
Dropping his gaze to his hands, he found himself uncertain what to say next. Samantha believed Maria's reaction was important, but he wasn't sure that it was anymore... his wife's response to this case had brought home once again why their marriage had always spent its share of time on the endangered list. She had blamed him - not for the deaths of the boys, exactly, but for the disruption in their lives that had resulted from his mishandling the Andy Deaver case. She had blamed him for letting it keep him away from home, then blamed him for carrying it home with him, and blamed him as well for the guilt he felt, in that convoluted way of hers that he had never understood. Over the years, that kind blame had driven him away emotionally until there was little left of what they had built a life together on.  
  
Regardless of how he felt about his wife, though, he had the girls to think about, and in his eyes, the girls and Maria came as a package deal. He twisted the wedding ring on his finger. He had to do what was best for Hanna and Kate, and a family was what was best; he had no doubt about that whatsoever. He closed his eyes, trapped.  
  
"I want you in my life," he said in a stubborn tone. "I need you in it."  
  
"But you can't," she said sadly, staring at him though eyes heavy with unshed tears.  
  
He stood up. She was barely three feet away but he didn't dare reach out. He saw the pain in her, knew what he had done to her - what they had done to each other - and knew pushing her away was the wise thing to do. He needed to end it. Pretend it never happened. Stop the hurt; stop the longing; cut his losses and run.  
  
But he opened his mouth and acknowledged a truth that hurt as much as letting her go did: "I don't want to let go. I don't know how to let go," he said. "I thought I did. I thought I could...I know I have to, but Sam, last night...today...you and me...I..." His words trailed off into silence.  
  
It was a plea to hold onto now and to hold back tomorrow. It hung in the air between them, part of the tableau of pain and loss and regret their relationship had created.  
  
Finally, Samantha's soft voice broke the moment. "Then let's not let go, at least not for tonight. I need you to hold me. We can deal with tomorrow, tomorrow; pretend whatever we have to pretend, and move on," she offered softly, shoring up her heart against the flood of pain she knew she would face tomorrow.  
  
He stared at her. He didn't deserve her, knew he didn't deserve her offer, knew it would change nothing in the end, but he grasped it anyway, like a drowning man would five more minutes of air. Slowly, he took a step forward, his arms held out.  
  
She moved towards him, knowing the current they were trapped in would allow for nothing else. She moved towards him knowing this was as inevitable as the setting sun, as needed as the air they breathed.  
  
She moved towards him, knowing she always would.  
  
End Chapter 29 


	28. Chapter 30

The Cost Chapter 30  
  
They had woken that morning curled in each other's arms. Though they did not say so aloud, and though it did not lessen their sadness, both felt this a better goodbye; a goodbye not granted them when Jack had first chosen his family and forced himself to abruptly walk away from the relationship that endangered it. After a murmured 'It's time to get up' and a parting kiss, they had lingered where they were, holding each other silently.  
  
Jack had buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, memorising the feel of her in his arms and the way her body molded itself to his. He missed the comfort her presence gave him already, and fought back tears of regret.  
  
Samantha had held him every bit as tightly, and squeezed back tears of her own when he'd softly murmured "Thank you," into her hair. It was over. Not their feelings for one another, but this sharing, this marriage-endangering affair...it was really and truly over; they were letting this go. They'd agreed.  
  
A tremor of rebellion against their fate had passed through her as she acknowledged what she had known all along: her hunger for him was stronger than ever. Acting on that hunger, she had moved against him, savouring her body's response to her skin touching his. He had responded with a low groan and a soft caress. Slowly, gracefully, they had fallen into making love one more time.  
  
Afterwards, their bodies sated, their hearts heavy, they had risen and gone their separate ways to shower and prepare for the day.  
  
When the met again to begin their day, they did not speak about their infidelity.  
  
It had never happened.  
  
It would never be forgotten.  
  
And they both prayed, in different ways, that there would be a future where what had not happened might happen again.  
  
If not accompanied by true desire, you see, even the best resolutions rarely hold firm.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
By noon that day, Samantha was standing on the beach and pushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The steady breeze coming off the Atlantic Ocean loosened it quickly, sending it flying back across her face. Twice more she pushed the strand back, then gave up and turned to face into the wind. Looking around, she saw that the beach was less busy today. Large clouds scudded across a bright blue sky, pushed on their way by the same south-easterly wind that played games with her hair. In spite of the clouds, however, hopeful families and couples dotted the sand here and there with brightly coloured towels, blue and white striped rental chairs, and assorted beach bags, coolers, umbrellas, and water toys. She suppressed the urge to shake her head at their optimism for a better day ahead.  
  
"Okay," Samantha said, speaking aloud as much to discipline her thoughts as to inform Jack. "Here's what we've got: People have noticed three males, approximately forty to fifty years old, depending on who you spoke to, who were regulars for at least the past week. They all kept to themselves, all appeared to have been alone all the time. All range in height from 5'10" to 6'2"." She smiled, and noted, "One woman asked how on earth she was supposed to know the height of someone she'd never seen stand up. I suppose she has a point." Glancing back around the beach, she continued, "Anyways, each chose a spot that they tended to use each day." She looked at her notes. "Marta Zenner was especially helpful - she's here every day braiding hair and selling jewelry. She said she'd be here again today, if we want to ask her anything else."  
  
Pointing as she continued to speak, she indicated three spots on the beach. "Over there, we have Mr. A: dark brown to reddish hair, moustache, and short beard. Deep blue eyes. Sat about twenty yards from the rental kiosk and often slept with a towel over his face. Over there," she said, turning to point up the beach, "just off the path from the parking lot, we have Mr. B: balding, blond, clean shaven, large beer gut. One report says he had a long scar on his left shin. Always with a book. Like Mr. A, he always sat in one of the rental chairs. And, last but not least," she said, turning the other way to point southward to a spot near the high tide mark, "we have Mr. C: he sat over there; crew cut, greying hair, also clean shaven, very hairy chest. He used his own chair, which he carried with him each day."  
  
Jack had been looking in the direction she had been pointing, but turned towards her when he said, "We'll check the hotels nearby to see where each of them was staying and find out what we can." Thinking of the descriptions, he paused. "Of the three, who would you say would be the most likely person to be hiding his identity?"  
  
"Mr. A," she replied without hesitation, glancing towards the rental tent.  
  
Jack nodded. "Precisely. We'll ask about the others, but Mr. C's beer gut would have been difficult to develop this quickly, and I don't think Spaulding's vanity would allow for one. That leaves Mr. A and B, and of the two, Mr. A sounds the most suspicious."  
  
"Wrong eye colour, though."  
  
"Eye colour can be changed easily enough."  
  
She nodded, trying to stifle the surge of hope and excitement that was spreading through her. "Let's get started. He may still be here."  
  
* * *  
  
He wasn't. A man by the name of Gerrod Wilson who answered the description of their Mr. A, had been booked into one of the nearby hotels along the beach. He had signed out the day before, however, after an almost two week stay. He had given the hotel a bogus Boston address and a home telephone number they discovered actually belonged to a hardware store located in Stoneham, Mass.  
  
"It's him, it must be," Samantha said as they walked into their hotel.  
  
Jack agreed. "But if he knows we've spotted him, he can easily change his appearance again. Let's check the airlines to see if he's flown out and to where." Instinct told him their quarry would head straight back to New York, but he had to remember to leave himself open to all possibilities: "If he's taking his tour cross country, it'll be even harder to track him; it'll be too easy for him to keep one step ahead of us," he added.  
  
Unspoken, but of equal concern was the fact that they knew they couldn't continue to use the majority of their resources for this one case. Before they'd left New York, pressure had begun to mount for them to relinquish the case to others. Much more time, and there'd be little they could do to hold on to it, and Jack's failure would be duly noted.  
  
Back in their rooms, they made a number of calls and quickly ascertained that Spaudling, under the alias of Gerrod Wilson, had left Miami and headed back for New York the previous day.  
  
"He must have called here from the airport, just before taking his flight." He sighed. "No point in hanging around here, then. I'll book us on the first flight I can get out."  
  
With one last glance at the bed they had shared, he resolutely set his thoughts on New York, wondering if he could get in early enough to see Kate and Hanna before he returned to the office. God knew when he'd get the chance again.  
  
End Chapter 30 


	29. Chapter 31

I have serious reservations about continuing this story after seeing last night's episode. I should never have watched it - or never started this darn story, I'm not sure which. In any event, there are a couple points of similarity that are bothering me, and I'm not sure about the ethics of continuing. Here's the next couple of chapters, to show you what I mean, and if anyone can provide some advice as to whether I'm treading dangerous ground here, I'd appreciate receiving it.  
  
Thanks as always to those who've invested so much time reading this. And my apologies.  
  
The Cost Chapter 31  
  
Gerrod Wilson's plane ticket from Miami to New York had been purchased with a newly issued credit card. God bless Mastercard, Jack thought, hoping that not only would Spaulding never leave home without it, but would also be foolish enough to use it when he got back to New York. Though all the information Spaulding had provided to the credit company had been false, and payment arranged by automatic withdrawal on an account with only a post box address, it provided them with one more way of tracking his movements, which could only be a good thing.  
  
In the twenty four hours since Jack and Samantha had returned to New York, the card had not been used, but there had been other leads to follow. Busy with one of them, Danny hung up the phone and strode to Jack's office. "Martin found a cabbie who says he drove a guy from the airport that looks like the 'Wilson' we're looking for. He says he dropped him off on Duncomb Ave, near the Gun Hill Road subway station. Martin's on the way up there now to check it out."  
  
Jack felt his pulse quicken. This was good news on more than one level. Van Doren had warned him as soon as he'd arrived back in the office that pressure was growing to have the case transfered. Obviously, he'd argued against that, and, afraid that Spaulding might change his identity again, had also persuaded her to not make public his new description until they'd tried tracing him.  
  
They had to move quickly, though. Jack rose. "Meet him there," he ordered. "It would've been late - someone might remember him. We need to know where he went next."  
  
With a nod, Danny left to meet up with Martin.  
  
Finding himself standing but with nowhere to go, Jack resumed his seat and began an impatient wait for a call from them. Reviewing his notes and trying to get into Spaulding's mind, he stopped short when he realised it might not take Spaulding long to take his next victim. He was methodical; he would have chosen the boy he would take next before going on his hiatus, in order to keep the momentum of his kills going when he returned.  
  
Chilled by the thought, Jack looked at his watch and stood up. Leaving his office, he wandered around restlessly, unconsciously ending up at Samantha's empty desk. Leaning on the shelf that was the top of her cubicle wall for a moment, he allowed himself to feel pleased he'd sent her home for a few hours of much needed sleep. Following hard on that thought was regret she was not here to talk to.  
  
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he mentally kicked himself.  
  
His time with her in Florida had unleashed a flood of emotion and need that he'd worked hard to build against. Shutting the gate against it once again was already proving more difficult than he had imagined. His situation with Maria wasn't helping. He'd called her and the girls as soon as he'd landed at LaGuardia the day before, had argued with his wife before being able to stop home to visit his daughters, and had left under a cloud of her disapproval. She was angry and hurt by his absence, and he understood why, but the understanding of her situation didn't summon forth a corresponding feeling of forgiveness.  
  
He knew where he wanted to be right now, knew who he wanted to be with, and knew who he needed to talk to.  
  
It wasn't his wife.  
  
When it came to matters that struck him deeply, it never had been. Picking up Samantha's name plate, he looked at it a moment, then replaced it carefully. With a resolute sigh, he shoved his errant thoughts aside, glanced at his watch again, and made a decision designed to stop him from doing something stupid.  
  
Danny and Martin wouldn't mind his going down to have a look at the area for himself.  
  
* * *  
  
His hands and face chilled by the damp March air, Jack stood on the busy corner and looked around, trying to visualise Spaulding as he had emerged from his taxi two nights before. It was dark, and though not quite so late as when Spaulding had been dropped off, had probably looked then much as it did now: busy traffic, street lights shining dully on wet pavement, and only a few drab and disinterested pedestrians making their way with tired determination from point A to point B.  
  
Catching a movement from the corner of his eye, he turned to watch Danny, who'd been down questioning the ticket booth attendant, walk up worn, dirty subway steps towards him. The expression on his face made his lack of success evident.  
  
"No one remembers much about last night," he reported, drawing to a stop beside his boss. His voice rising slightly to be heard over the passing traffic, he said, "I told him it would have been real late, but the guy working says 'real late' just means his eyes aren't 'real' open and he's not paying 'real' good attention." He shrugged. "The world needs more funny guys."  
  
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stood companionably with Malone and observed the area carefully. "There are lots of places around here he could be living. If not, if he wanted to make his trail hard to follow, he could have taken the subway, or there's a bus stop over that way," he said after a moment, nodding his head towards the west, "or he could have called another taxi from the booth over there," he added, turning slightly to look at a call box conveniently located at the subway entrance. He lapsed back into silence, knowing he hadn't said anything Jack hadn't already thought of. The possibilities were daunting, and unless they hit it lucky, they'd have to explore them all.  
  
"Martin's phoning some of the taxi companies now," Jack said. Both men looked over to where Martin stood against a building, talking animatedly into his cell phone. "I'll have Sam check out the bus driver on the route when she gets in. Even if Spaulding didn't take the bus, the driver may have noticed him standing around."  
  
Danny nodded, still trying to sort out which Jack had returned from Florida. The older man seemed more himself - less guilt ridden and more decisive - but there was an emptiness behind his boss' eyes that made the younger agent wonder what effect the prolonged nature of this case was having on him...  
  
...And what had transpired between him and Samantha while they'd been away.  
  
No one had commented on Jack and Samantha going on an overnight trip together: he, because he was still uncertain of what, if anything, was going on and didn't like to be the first one to say something; Vivian, he suspected, because she was discreet and wouldn't say anything no matter what she knew; and Martin, he figured, because he had no idea it was something worthy of comment.  
  
Knowing there were some questions only patience brought the answers to, he let his thoughts wander, hunching his shoulders against the cold. Having Spaulding slip up so that they could trail him back to the city had been a piece of good fortune. Pausing, he thought a moment, then said slowly, "Jack, I may be out of line here, but your being out in the open is what gave us this lead. Spaulding wanted you drawn out so he could see you. When he saw you, he acted impulsively and made a critical mistake."  
  
Jack nodded. "Yeah. Sam and I talked about that."  
  
All things considered, Danny guessed they had likely talked about more than that. "We might be able to use that in our favour," he suggested.  
  
"He was lonely down there," Jack said. "Now that he's back, it might not be so important. He knows once the murders start again, he'll have all the attention he could possibly ask for."  
  
"Yours being the most important."  
  
Jack stared into the distance, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he acknowledged in a low voice.  
  
Danny mentally kicked himself. Jack hadn't needed the reminder.  
  
Falling into their separate thoughts, they stood without speaking. After a moment, Danny frowned. There had to be a way of using Spaulding's increasing need to get a response out of Jack to their advantage. Thinking of a number of possibilities, he tossed each aside and heaved a sigh. Perhaps tomorrow, when they were all together, they could approach the idea and come up with a course of action.  
  
As though reading the younger agent's thoughts, Jack broke the silence between them and said, "We can talk about it tomorrow, when we're all together. You're right: we may be able to use it to our advantage. He doesn't seem to do well when he acts impulsively."  
  
He also knew Spaulding's slip up could be a sign of a deteriorating mental state. Allowing himself to consider, for a moment, what the man might be capable of when even more out of his mind, he felt a tremble of concern run through him.  
  
To their left, Martin closed his cell phone. A few steps, and he joined the two men standing on the corner. Unconsciously mimicking their stance, he put his hands in his coat pockets and hunched his shoulders. "I hit it lucky the third call," he told them. "A driver picked up a fare from here roughly the time we're looking at, but the driver's off for the night." In an aside comment to Danny he asked, "Why are they always off when we're trying to track them down?" Then he continued, "Anyways, the dispatcher gave me the cabbie's name and home phone number, but he's not there. His girl friend answered and said she doesn't know - and I quote - 'when the hell he's coming home'. She has my number for when he does, but I'll try again a few more times tonight, just in case."  
  
Jack looked around at the street and made a decision. "There's not much more we can accomplish tonight. You two go home and get a couple hours of sleep. Be in by six. We'll do what needs to be done, then."  
  
The two men nodded, knowing that if this was the beginning of the end, Jack was giving them the last sleep they'd have in what might be days. Experienced, they were wise enough to appreciate the gesture and take advantage of it. Saying quick good nights, they hailed taxis and headed for home. It was only later that both men realised Jack had said nothing about going home himself.  
  
Jack stood on the corner after they left for a few moments more, visualising Spaulding as he exited his taxi. He watched in his mind's eye as Spaulding picked up his suitcase and turned to watch as the lights of the taxi drove into the distance and turned out of sight. A grey, nebulous thought lingered a moment over his consciousness, then drifted away before he could catch it. He shrugged, knowing it would return. Slowly, he turned and walked down the subway steps.  
  
End Chapter 31 


	30. Chapter 32

The Cost by: Mariel Chapter 32  
  
Graham Spauding sat down in his leather easy chair and smiled at his new surroundings. This was more like it. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he put his hands together and steepled his fingers. It was all totally perfect.  
  
It was simply lovely what money could do.  
  
Silently thanking his Papa for carrying on the Spaulding Academy tradition and not selling out when enrollment was low and real estate prices lower, he looked at his new apartment with pleasure. Sun streamed through the sheers of his livingroom window. Though all the furniture he had ordered had not arrived, he was pleased with what had: the leather recliner he now sat upon, the matching leather sofa, the antique mahogany desk with its leather upholstered chair. And his books, of course - they lined the walls now, all brought over in one trip the previous night. Turning more critical, he noted the walls needed to be painted, and the floors had seen better days, but all in all, he was pleased with the general effect. It wasn't a bad place, considering the locale, and the hunting...the hunting would be very, very good...  
  
The idea of moving out of the abandoned building he had made his home had been forming for a while. His stay in Florida had helped him make the final decision. He couldn't continue to live in the dingy drabness of a building slotted to be demolished. When he returned, he was filled with a sense of urgency to get out of the small, dark space that had, temporarily, been the perfect hideaway. Now, he wanted more. Deserved better.  
  
Methodical as ever, he'd done his homework while away, and had chosen where he would look for an apartment carefully. He'd begun his search the morning after his arrival, making his first appointment for 9:30am at a building very close to his preferred area.  
  
When you have money, even an apartment in New York is not too difficult to find. When you are a single male without pets, assure the owner you are quiet and like to keep to yourself, your difficulties are even fewer. Especially when you are looking in an area known for the young college types who cra themselves, three, four and more into small, two bedroom apartments, destroying everything in their path. Landlords welcome tenants of a different calibre.  
  
And, of course, when you also have luck, it's all even easier. Graham Spaulding knew he was a lucky man, so he was unsurprised when the very first apartment he looked at was available immediately and exactly what he was looking for. Why should the gods be anything but accommodating? Taking the 'immediately' part to heart, he'd gone out, ordered furniture to be delivered the next day, and returned to his dark hidey hole, feeling a wonderful sense of joy...  
  
...a sense of joy that could only translate into a corresponding stab at Jack Malone.  
  
He smiled, and wondered how long it would take Jack to realise he had already killed again. He closed his eyes, enjoying the mental picture of Jack standing over the body, the knowledge it had been placed there just for him burning into his soul.  
  
Grant Breindal's broken, used body was a gift...a gift to Jack in memory of their own shared moments in a stuffy back seat of a rental car on a rainy night...And in memory of a shared moment on a beach that Jack didn't even know about.  
  
His smile became a grin. So many memories....  
  
End Chapter 32 


	31. Chapter 33

The Cost by: Mariel  
  
Chapter 33  
  
The team arrived early the next day. Hearing the elevator door open, Jack paused before entering his office to watch Samantha, Danny, and Martin all step out of the elevator together. It was amazing what a promising lead and a good night's sleep could do for motivation and mood, he thought. They were smiling, and looked young and refreshed and eager to begin their day. While the two men chuckled over some shared joke, Samantha, as though feeling his gaze, looked over at him. Before looking away so that the others did not notice their shared glance, she smiled a smile he knew she smiled only for him.  
  
His heart filled. It shouldn't have, of course, and he knew it. He had no right to let it, no right to feel the warmth that flowed through him, and certainly no right to feel the sense of satisfaction loving her gave him.  
  
Right, however, didn't always dictate reality, and he found he could do nothing to stop the surge of gladness her presence gave him. It was secret and it was wrong, and it brought with it a corresponding pain, but he held it to him jealously nonetheless.  
  
Stepping into his office before the others noticed him, he gathered up his errant emotions and set them carefully aside. There would be time to deal with them later, time to rationalise them and squash them into something manageable; time, even, to remind himself that some sacrifices were worth making. It was over, and for all the right reasons.  
  
By the time he sat down at his desk, he had resolutely put his mind on finding Spaulding.  
  
* * *  
  
Exploring the second leg of Spaulding's trip home required staking out the home of Mark Pettit, the cabbie who had picked him up near the Gun Hill subway station. Martin had called the girlfriend a few times to see if he had returned from his night out. Each time she had answered, the girlfriend, (who had told Martin her name was Ellie,) had been a little more angry - not at Martin, but at the 'no good, lazy, stupid slop of irresponsibility' she lived with. Martin wasn't sure just what a 'stupid slop of irresponsibility' was, but it was easy to tell it wasn't anything good.  
  
By mid-morning the next day, her response to his phone call made it obvious her anger had reached a fever pitch. Wise to this, Martin and Danny decided to sit outside the old row house the couple shared in the hopes of intercepting Mark before Ellie got her hands on him.  
  
When a slightly worse-for-the-wear black pickup truck slewed to a stop just down the street from the house and a man carefully got out, they knew they had Mark. Tall and muscular, his hair mussed and his face in need of a shave, he walked in rumpled clothes towards his home with all the enthusiasm of a man condemned. He looked pale, sick, and hung over.  
  
And very, very sorry.  
  
Feeling a moment's pity, Martin shook his head. Mark looked as though he knew only too well what awaited him when he opened his front door. "There he is," he observed aloud. With a glimmer of humour, he added, "Poor guy. Doesn't look too happy. His hangover and the girlfriend's mood are probably more punishment than he deserves."  
  
Danny shrugged. "You make your bed, you lie in it," he said philosophically. Reaching for the car door handle, he said, "Time to boogie."  
  
Hoping Ellie hadn't heard the truck draw to a stop outside, the two men got out of their vehicle and walked across the quiet street to intercept Mark before he got to his home.  
  
While they were still only half way across the street, the front door of Mark's tall, narrow abode was thrown open with a crash. A short, slender woman with curly blonde hair and fiery blue eyes stepped outside onto the stoop. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked down the street towards Mark Pettit and began to scold, "And just where the hell have you-"  
  
Martin almost ran the last few steps towards where the woman stood. Looking up from the sidewalk at her, he tried to draw her attention. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm Special Agent Martin Fitzgerald; I'm with the FBI, and we've been speaking on the phone? Agent Taylor here," he said, indicating his partner with a wave of his hand, "and I really need to speak to Mr. Pettit. We'll only take a moment, and then he's all yours." He used his most charming manner and his best smile - and crossed his fingers as extra insurance.  
  
Ellie harumphed, but didn't move. Standing like a jeans-clad angel of vengeance, she watched Danny approach her boyfriend, then turned to allow herself to be beguiled by Martin's blue, innocently hopeful eyes. Casting a dark glance back at her slowly approaching errant boyfriend, she said, "Fine. Y'all go right ahead, but I'm staying right here and listening to everything. Ain't no way this poor excuse is going to sneak off again. He's home and he's gonna stay home."  
  
And so, under Ellie's eagle eye, the two agents and Mark walked up the steps to the front door and, standing on the small stoop together, went over the details about the fare Mark had taken from Gun Hill Road to Hutchinson. When they showed him the composite picture that had been drawn up of Spaulding's new appearance, Pettit nodded and said, yes, that was the guy he'd picked up. He then helpfully answered all the agents' questions while his petite girlfriend stood beside him, tapping her bare foot impatiently.  
  
Finished with their questioning, Martin showed him the picture one last time to confirm the fare's identity. "Yup, that's him, that's for sure," Mark had said, nodding vigorously while eyeing Ellie and looking somewhat desperate to continue the conversation at all cost. "He had the brightest blue eyes you ever saw, and it was weird, the way his beard was nothin' like the colour of his hair. If a man's going grey, let it go, I say. Dying your hair...it just doesn't make sense. It didn't make him look no younger. His beard and moustache had lots of grey in it - he shoulda dyed them, too, if he wanted to look decent. He wasn't a bad lookin' man, I don't think," he said, his words spilling out faster and faster as he saw Ellie's temper rising. "Don't know why he'd want to do something like that to hisself. I figure-"  
  
"You fixin' to start writing style articles for GQ, or what?" his girlfriend finally snapped, her large eyes flashing angrily. "Knock it off, and say good bye." Pushing him on the arm, she looked at the two agents. "You two finished?" When they nodded, she tossed her head and gave Mark another shove. "Good, 'cause I'm about to start." Pushing him again, he stumbled over the threshold and into his home. "You get in there and clean yourself up. You smell like a brewery!" she snapped. "I can't believe you didn't even bother to call to let me know you weren't comin' home! You coulda been dead, and how would I have known? That might have been okay for your old girlfriend, but I was worried half to death, and these cops callin' me again and again, and me not knowin' where the hell you were- It's a damned good thing I love you 'cause-"  
  
The door closed behind them, muting her voice. The muffled sounds of her tirade continued deep into the house.  
  
Left outside, Martin and Danny shared a grin and a moment's appreciation for being unattached.  
  
Turning, they walked down the steps to the street. Holding the composite picture up triumphantly, Martin had said, "It's our guy. We're one step closer to the sonofabitch."  
  
Danny nodded, also feeling elation rise inside him. Things were falling into place. "We better call Jack and let him know," he said, pleased he had good news.  
  
* * *  
  
Danny's good news was, for a while, overshadowed by bad.  
  
"Another body's been found. The coroner thinks it's been lying where they found it about two days." There was a pause, then a muttered, "Bastard must have murdered the kid before he'd even unpacked from his trip."  
  
That was Samantha. When Jack hadn't answered the phone, Danny had immediately tried her cell number. She'd answered on the second ring and apprised him of the situation. She and Jack were on their way to view the body before it was removed and taken to the morgue.  
  
"Tell him we spoke to the cabbie and it looks like we've got our guy. He says he picked up someone matching Spaulding's new appearance near the subway station," he told her. "The cabbie says he didn't give an exact address to be dropped off at, just a corner on Hutchinson. He gave us a rough idea of what direction he headed in after being dropped off, though. We can go there to take a look right now, if he wants us to."  
  
Samantha relayed the information, expecting Jack would want to speak to Danny himself. Instead of asking to talk to him, however, he said, "Tell Danny and Martin to run with it. And to be careful they're not spotted. I don't want Spaulding getting spooked. I'll call them after we're through with the body."  
  
She nodded and relayed the message to Danny.  
  
"Will do," Danny said. "I've got a very good feeling about this. Maybe this is going to be the last body we have to deal with."  
  
"I hope so," she agreed, glancing at Jack.  
  
A hurried 'See ya', followed by a click, indicated he'd severed the connection. "Looks like we're getting closer," she commented as she put her phone away.  
  
"Not close enough to stop him from killing another kid," Jack said curtly.  
  
Samantha wasn't surprised or offended by his tone. "But maybe close enough to stop him from doing another."  
  
Jack nodded, unwilling to voice any hopeful thought just yet. They'd said the boy killed was Grant Breindal. He was described as a regular kid with a regular life. A regular kid who had died a horrific, undeserved death. The number fifteen had been carved into his chest. Deeply engraved plus marks crowded around it. There were bruises, he'd been told, and rope burns and- He slowed when he saw the flashing lights of emergency and police vehicles ahead. Turning to the side of the road, he parked and quickly got out, pausing only to wait for Samantha to catch up with him.  
  
Samantha glanced sideways at him as they strode towards the epicentre of activity. Some things had changed, but one thing hadn't: each body was just a little harder for him to see, a little harder for him to sort away and accommodate.  
  
Jack stood over the broken body and closed his eyes. Clad only in a pair of undershorts, it was a mess of abrasions, bruises and welts. Superimposed on all of that were the cuts made to form the fifteen and the plusses - seven of them this time. Turning to speak to Samantha, he was interrupted by a camera flashing, and then flashing again. Looking up across the body to where a group of people stood huddled around waiting for the body to be removed, he realised that the cameraman wasn't a member of the CSI team. Nor was the camera being aimed at the scene. Instead, it was aimed directly at him.  
  
Reacting immediately, he made a forward movement but was stopped by Samantha, who grabbed his arm. Looking over at a police officer, she pointed to the photographer and ordered, "Get him out of here. Now. He shouldn't be here." Watching as an officer standing closer to the photographer made to grab him, she said more loudly, "And confiscate his film!"  
  
The cameraman ducked and tried to run away. Samantha and Jack watched as he almost made it past the police yellow tape before being finally brought down.  
  
Walking over to where the man was being held, Jack struggled to contain his anger. Ignoring the two police officers who had followed them over, he stood directly in front of the photographer, his fists clenched. Samantha briefly distracted him by placing a hand on his arm.  
  
"Jack-" she said in a warning voice.  
  
"I know, I know," he muttered. Turning back towards the cameraman, he took a deep breath and asked, "This is a crime scene. You aren't supposed to be within yards of this area. What the hell did you think you were doing? "  
  
The dark haired man shrugged, unfazed by what had transpired. "My job. A picture of you with one of the bodies might be worth a little something." He narrowed his eyes and his lips formed a smirk Jack fought the impulse to erase. "Word has it you're the reason the boy's dead. Him and the others. You've got quite a string of them to your credit, and God knows you're not doing too good at finding-"  
  
He didn't have the chance to finish before Jack lunged at him.  
  
Samantha quickly stepped in between the two men. "Shut your face before someone shuts it for you," she said, struggling against Jack's forward movement. Thankful the place was teaming with police, she turned around to face Jack, who had quickly been restrained by the two officers who had walked over with them. She put her hands against his chest and said firmly, "Just turn and walk away. He's an idiot, and you don't need to get in trouble over this. We'll get the film, don't worry." She looked into his eyes. "Jack, please. Just do it!"  
  
He looked at the cameraman and knew it was useless. There was truth in what the man had said: he was the reason the boy was dead...it was no news to him, but he supposed it would be more than noteworthy in the papers. Slumping, he nodded and allowed the police officers to turn him away. After he moved his arms to indicate he didn't require their holding him, he walked slowly towards where he'd parked the car.  
  
A moment later, Samantha caught up with him. "I don't think that's the last we're going to hear from him," she said in a worried tone. Glancing behind her to where she could see the photographer watching their departure, she added, "He sounds as though he has a real ax to grind."  
  
"Who is he?" Jack asked.  
  
"Says he's Jonathan Mitchell," she relied. "He works for The Post."  
  
Jack recognised the name. "He usually works with Fred Speck," he said, naming a popular special features writer for the paper. "We're going to see this incident described in minute detail in tomorrow's papers," he said in a weary tone.  
  
Samantha looked at him, dismayed. Pressure was bad enough. The last thing they needed was bad publicity. "Perhaps not."  
  
Jack shook his head. "Speck would be crazy to pass this up, and Mitchell's comments indicate pretty much how the article will go. They've talked about this already. He was just here trying for some scenery to go with the words."  
  
"At least we're a step closer to putting an end to this. Hopefully Danny and Martin will find something useful over on Hutchinson."  
  
Jack nodded, glad for the positive distraction. Refocussing his thoughts, he looked at his watch. "It's past one o'clock. They should be there in a half hour or so. Let's grab something to take back to the office to eat. By the time we're there, they'll have looked around enough we can make a few decisions. The least we can do is stake out the area; see if we can grab him that way."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
After a lengthy discussion with Martin and Danny when they returned, a force of undercover agents were sent out to survey an area roughly three square blocks in size. Particular attention was paid to two boarded up buildings and an apartment building in the immediate area of where Spaulding had been dropped off several nights before.  
  
"We know that's not where he picked up the last victim, so my guess is he was driven there because that's where he's living. He must have dropped off his suitcases and headed straight out to find Grant," Martin reported  
  
Jack nodded. "It would put the time of the murder just about right." Forensics had reported that the murder had probably taken place between the hours of eleven p.m. and one a.m.  
  
Looking at the tired faces gathered around the table, Jack gave his final order for the day. "Go home. We'll let Surveillance do their jobs. Tomorrow's another day." Glancing at Samantha, he shared a moment's worry with her about what it might bring, then stood.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The next morning, Jack was proven right about his speculation that Speck had a newspaper article brewing about the Spaulding case. Though there were no picture of the body or Jack, the colourful description of events had needed none. One headline had read: "Is This the Best They Have to Offer?" another, "Futile Efforts". The articles questioned the ability of Jack Malone and his team to competently lead the investigation, brought up Malone's handling of the Andy Deaver case, questioned the FBI for not handing things over to their experts, and pointed out in great detail the lengthy time the case had been going on and the number of boys murdered.  
  
Just as the team was settling around the conference table for their morning meeting, Van Doren had stepped in unannounced and requested Jack's presence in her office. She'd been holding a copy of the paper they'd all read earlier.  
  
After watching Jack's retreating back, the team had looked at one another.  
  
Gathering herself together in the stunned silence that had followed Jack's departure, Vivian had inhaled audibly. "Okay, you heard the man: let's review what we've got and get it up on the board if it's not there." Glancing in the direction of Van Doren's office, she added, "No point in wondering what's going on, so let's just deal with what we can."  
  
Samantha followed Vivian's gaze towards Van Doren's office. Mentally crossing her fingers and promising herself she would find a time and place to talk to him, she turned her attention back to table.  
  
End chapter 33 


	32. Chapter 34

The Cost Chapter 34  
  
The result of the early morning meeting with Van Doren had not been as dreadful as the team had expected. Van Doren, agreeing with Jack's interpretation of how the newspaper articles could be used to their advantage, had immediately called a press conference. Ostensibly a means of damage control, its main, though covert, focus was to prod Spaulding's ego and elicit an impulsive move that might bring him out into the open.  
  
What form that impulsive move might take was as yet unknown, but it would not be good and it would, in all likelihood, ultimately lead to the death of another young teenage boy...  
  
Cameras flashed as Van Doren and the investigative team stepped outside the FBI building and into the pale spring light. Addressing the press in such a public manner always gave her the unhappy feeling of participating in a dog and pony show. Eyeing the crowd of reporters assembled, she inhaled deeply and stepped forward towards the microphone already set up in front of her. This time, at least, the circus presented for the press served a purpose she supported. Looking at the crowd, she began.  
  
"In an effort to clear any misconceptions that may be out there in regards to the serial murder case we are presently working on, I want to assure everyone that we are very pleased with the progress we've made to date. We're drawing close, and have every confidence that we will have the perpetrator in custody shortly," she said, addressing the crowd confidently.  
  
Turning towards Jack, she said, "Supervisory Special Agent Jack Malone is of course heading our investigation..."  
  
After extolling his virtues and acumen and his sterling record as an investigator and profiler, she deftly fielded questions from the reporters: Yes, it was unusual to have a Missing Persons team handle a case of this nature, but Agent Malone's experience and knowledge - coupled with his unique insight into the character and mind of the man they believed to be perpetrating these crimes - had allowed them to make great strides in their investigation; no, it was not a one man show: it was a team effort, and expertise from CASMIRC, NCAVC and the BAU were all being utilized. Malone, she told the reporters, was handling things too well to have the case delegated elsewhere. He had the support of any department he required, and the FBI had complete confidence in him...  
  
As she continued to speak, Jack stood behind her and eyed the crowd. Beside him, his team discreetly did the same. They saw no one who matched Spaulding's latest description, but knew that he would be watching from somewhere. The announcement of the press conference had been loud and public - Spaulding couldn't have been unaware of it taking place, and his curiosity and vanity wouldn't have allowed him to miss it: the press release had implied there might be a change in case management announced. That would have drawn Spaulding's attention; he'd want to gloat, want to see and hear Jack's failure made public.  
  
His anger at and disappointment in the message given would, it was hoped, make him act without thinking of the consequences.  
  
When Van Doren's very public display of trust - and of favours quietly called in - was finished and the press conference over, the team returned to their area on the 24th floor.  
  
Barely twenty minutes after stepping into his office, Jack walked out of it and called the team together. There'd been another voice mail from Spaulding, which Jack immediately played for them. His voice electronically distorted as always, Spaulding's slowly delivered message had been brief: "You may have them fooled now, Jack, but today's display will only make your fall from grace more spectacular. What's coming next you won't be able to cover up, and everyone will see you fail. Nothing you do can stop me." There was a pause, then the electronically distorted voice turned silken: "I'm beginning to wonder if you really want to."  
  
That final taunt still ringing in his ears, Jack had invited hypotheses about what Spaulding would do next. When all avenues seemed to have been exhausted in that area, he had directed them to re-examine the Hutchinson drop off area.  
  
"Like we said yesterday: it's a reasonably okay location to live; residential, some retail, a little soft industry, the usual quota of corner stores," Danny said. "We asked around quietly, but no one we showed them to recognized either picture we have of Spaulding." He shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. He's there; I can feel it."  
  
Tapping it lightly on the table, Samantha frowned at her pencil and asked slowly, "We've been talking mainly apartments. What if there's another place he could set up living accommodations? I mean, he'd need water and hydro, but that's not impossible. What is there in that area that fits the bill? We'd want to look at an older building, abandoned, but only recently." She looked around at everyone. "It might even be where he takes them while they're alive. Some place abandoned...he could get them in and out without anyone noticing, right? He wouldn't have to worry about getting the kid down a long hallway where anyone might see him."  
  
Danny nodded. "There are a few places like that. The area's just starting to become trendy. Folks are fixing their places up and landlords are closing up some of the older places in the hopes of selling them off to someone looking to develop."  
  
"I'll take a look at the abandoned buildings in the area; see if any of them are inhabitable," Martin volunteered. "There aren't many of them, I don't think."  
  
Jack nodded. Turning to Danny, he said, "You and Vivian go out and show his picture around a little more. Someone's had to have seen him somewhere. Van Doren," he explained, "is starting to get pressure to release his new description, and I'd like to canvas the area before he knows we're onto his identity change."  
  
They nodded and rose. Samantha remained behind. Knowing she wanted to say something, he waited.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked when everyone had gone.  
  
Jack nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"You didn't go home last night, did you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Have you slept? You won't do anyone any good if you're too tired to function properly."  
  
He looked at her silently. He hadn't slept since Florida. In spite of the wrongness of what they'd done, her presence there had helped him fight back his demons, allowing him the peace of mind he needed to sleep. He could hardly tell her that, though. He sighed. "There's too much on my mind."  
  
Samantha reached out to touch his arm lightly. "I know, but that doesn't mean you can continue like this. We've been back for a couple days now." She looked at him steadily. "Have you slept at all?"  
  
Jack ran a weary hand over his face. "I must have."  
  
"Yeah, right." She sighed. Nothing was going to change for a while. Acknowledging there was nothing she could do to help him at the moment, she turned her attention back onto the case. Standing up, she looked down at him. "I'm going to go take a look at power cut offs and re-installs. Spaulding may have found a place he liked and simply called in and asked to have power hooked up after the landlord had it cut off. Who's going to question, if he's paid the deposit and given a valid address to send the bill to?"  
  
Resisting the urge to touch him as she passed, she walked towards her desk.  
  
* * *  
  
Jack sat submerged in the shadows of his dimly lit office, exploring the depths of Graham Spaulding's psyche until he could feel the man's madness, his hate and anger and frustration, and even the sharp tingle of excitement when he saw his next victim.  
  
Eyes closed, he centred himself into Spaulding's world. His face blank, he remained motionless a long moment, his mind travelling along a myriad number of possibilities. Those possibilities inhabited a dark world; a world of twisted emotion, physical indignities and psychological depravity that made his stomach churn. Slowly, though, he walked through the past weeks in Spaulding's shoes, examining each move, each decision, each kill... Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, realization making his heart pound. He knew what Graham Spaulding would do next. Without thinking, he reached for the phone and punched a connecting number.  
  
"Vivian. Do you know if Terry's still in town?"  
  
When she said he was and offered to contact him, he said, "Yeah, if you could, that'd be great. Tell him anytime is good, so long as it's soon."  
  
He offered no explanation, and Vivian did not ask for one.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Jack picked up the receiver of his phone after the first ring.  
  
"Malone, here."  
  
"Jack."  
  
"Terry."  
  
"Vivian called. You want to see me?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You've come up with something that disturbs you."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'll be right over. I'm just about finished here."  
  
Jack put the phone down and sat back in his chair to wait. A problem shared was a problem halved - wasn't that the old saying?  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Jack watched Baldwin's tall, lean frame fold itself into the chair across from him.  
  
"It's about time."  
  
Terry grunted. "Yeah, well the traffic fairy wasn't cooperating. I don't know how you people stand it," he griped, forgetting for a moment the maddening traffic chaos of his own Los Angeles. Quickly making himself comfortable, he leaned back and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. "So: what've you got?" he asked.  
  
"Spaulding left a message on my voice mail today, before I was even back from the press conference," Jack said as he reached over and replayed the message for his friend's benefit. When it was finished, he continued, "It got me to thinking, and what I think is that he's going to go for someone more public next time. Maybe the son of someone who's in the news." Terry frowned. Knowing better than to dismiss the idea out as being out of hand, however, he stared at the windows behind Jack's head and thought aloud, "Up until now, he's been content with the kid next door type. In spite of the press conference you gave, he must know things aren't going well for you. So why up the ante? Why change something that's given him success? Going for a public figure is a whole different ball game. It won't be some kid taking a dark alley home, and it won't be a nobody that only a few people know or really care about. The stakes would be much higher; the publicity would be constantly in your face." His eyes opened wider as he finished the sentence. "Ah...you may have something there."  
  
He paused to think, pleased by the logic of it all. The morning's papers and the following press conference had put Jack into the limelight as never before. Spaulding would feel the need to increase the pressure, indulge in making Jack's failure even more public and humiliating.  
  
Putting both feet firmly on the ground, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands together, he looked over at his friend. "You want me in on trying to profile who he'll go for. That's not going to be easy, Jack."  
  
Malone nodded. "I've been thinking, though. He might go for one of his ex- students. We can investigate who's still in the area. There's also the chance he's had dealings with some politician or other. If they've got children..." He allowed his voice to fade.  
  
Terry Baldwin let his mind fall into the dark places inhabited by a madman. Using what he knew, he said, "He's moving too fast. Acting too quickly. His call to you was a knee jerk reaction to seeing you. I have a feeling he's going to act before he's completely ready."  
  
"That's right. And all hell's going to break loose when he does what he does." Jack leaned back into his chair. "I've got my own theories, but like you said, I'd like you in on profiling his next victim. It has to be seen that I'm not trying to make this a one man show."  
  
Terry took a good, long look at Jack. This was about more than Jack covering his ass with the powers that be. He looked to be in far better shape psychologically than he had been the last time they'd met, but he looked dog tired.  
  
"You look like hell. What happened in Florida?"  
  
Jack's expression froze. "You know already. Spaulding spent almost two weeks down there from what we can tell. We still haven't figured out how he got there, but we know where he was staying, and there's no doubt the murder was his handiwork."  
  
"Like you said, I know all that," his friend retorted, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm asking about you. What happened to you while you were down there?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Jack, cut the crap."  
  
Jack moved restlessly, then admitted grudgingly, "I made a mistake."  
  
"A mistake? We all learn from making those. What did you learn?" was Terry's quick comeback.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"You slept together?" When he'd heard they'd gone down together, he'd been certain they would. Had even hoped they would. Jack was sadder and more remote than he had ever seen him. He'd hoped perhaps his being with someone who settled him would help him gain the perspective he needed to regain some of what he had lost. He'd also hoped that it might perhaps give them the opportunity to answer some of the questions that Jack's relationship with Samantha had given rise to.  
  
"You became a voyeur since when?"  
  
Terry grinned. "Stop trying to avoid. Besides, I like the thought of becoming a dirty old man when I grow up."  
  
"Yeah, but just once can't you leave me with a little privacy? Does the phrase 'butt out' mean anything to you?"  
  
Unfazed by Jack's words, Baldwin said, "Don't get nasty with me. Did you and Sam fall off the wagon?"  
  
Jack remained silent. An interesting way of putting it, he thought, and very apropos. When Terry continued to wait expectantly, he finally admitted. "Yeah."  
  
"And you say it was a mistake because...?"  
  
"Because I can't do an affair. It's not right. Marie deserves better. So do my girls."  
  
Terry nodded. "You're right. So how are you going to give them better?"  
  
Jack looked miserable. "I don't know. It's a lot harder to give Sam up than I expected," he said, hating that he sounded like a spoiled schoolboy, thwarted of something he desired.  
  
"I would imagine so. She supports you. Understands you." Loves you, he added silently.  
  
"But she's not the mother of my children."  
  
Terry nodded. "And that's a hard one to get around."  
  
"Exactly. And even if I could, it wouldn't get this case solved."  
  
"You're changing the topic?"  
  
"I'm changing the topic, Terry. Ain't no talking going to make this better anytime soon, and we've got more urgent things to deal with."  
  
Though on some levels he hated to admit it, Terry knew Jack was right. Now wasn't the time to worry about personal problems, but by saying just this little, Jack's problem had been shared, and that was important. He sighed. At the moment, he had no advice to give, anyways, and God knew he wasn't much of a success in the relationship business himself.  
  
"We'll come back to it at a later time, then," he conceded. Switching easily to the problem at hand, he asked, "What are your thoughts on my seeing if I can get Bill Ganter to give us a hand on this one? He's good, and he's been watching this case with interest. He'd love to sit in on a brainstorming session."  
  
Relieved Terry had been so willingly been diverted, Jack nodded. "Call him. We don't have a lot of time, though. Spaulding makes his decisions and then executes them quickly. He doesn't like too much time to go by with him not being the center of attention. I give it a couple days, tops, before he does something."  
  
"Which means he'll likely go for someone he knows on some personal level."  
  
"Yeah, like one of his ex-students," Jack mentioned again, already convinced this was the direction Spaulding would take.  
  
"So, get your people to bring in the school records. They've gotta be somewhere. They can spend some time weeding out the unlikelys and then help us with the rest."  
  
"They're all outside. Let's go talk to them now," Jack said, rising. He could almost taste Spaulding's capture. Sending a small prayer that it be before Spaulding killed another innocent, and not after, he left.  
  
End Chapter 34 


	33. Chapter 35

The Cost Chapter 35  
  
Spaulding shook with glee. Clasping his hands tightly together, he looked at his work and rejoiced. This would throw their rhythm off; make them stagger in their plodding search for him. This would give him time for his spectacular finale - the kill that would make him famous, the kill that would see Jack's career end in tatters, the kill that would allow him - for a while, at least - to sit back and enjoy the benefits of his work before planning his next set of exercises...  
  
Pausing to relish the burning hatred roiling inside him, he stoked it higher. He had no intention of just ruining Jack's reputation and seeing him leave the FBI in disgrace. He intended to haunt the man until he lost everything: his family, his self-esteem, his confidence, his sense of self. Jack had tried - in an inept, flat-footed way - to do that to him, but had failed. Now, though Jack may have taken away his reputation and his school, he had risen from the ashes of defeat like a phoenix. He grinned, almost dizzy from the intensity of his elation. It was time Jack saw the true power of a newly rejuvenated genius.  
  
Forcing himself to relax, consciously willing his trembling to stop, he looked down at the now lifeless body in front of him. He hadn't planned this kill, had in no way prepared for it, but he had recognized the opportunity as a sign and had acted accordingly.  
  
So he had taken the boy and brought him into his home, lovingly plied him with drugs to stop his screams, tortured him to show him the error of his ways, raped him to show him the error of the world's ways, and then killed him to show the world the error of Jack's ways.  
  
He didn't know the boy's name.  
  
Or where he was from, or why, precisely, the boy had come to his particular door when he'd found his big brother not at home.  
  
There'd been no time for unimportant details.  
  
Energized by the kill, excited by the thought of Jack's reaction, he had methodically cleaned the room, using disinfectant as his Poppa had taught him, cleaning thoroughly, and remembering to put everything washable into the washing machine. Glasses had been rinsed out, the drugs put back in their hiding place, and, except for the body now lying on the floor by the door, everything tidied up within an hour. As the washing machine hummed in the background, he now looked around, pleased. Eyes falling on the body, he grinned to himself, knowing just where and how it would be placed.  
  
He moved towards a closet in search of his jacket. As soon as he was finished with the body, he had an old friend to look up: someone who had a lesson to learn. Little David would be so surprised to see him...if he recognized him. A wash of anger coursed through him. It was about time that particular young boy paid for his rudeness.  
  
Again, his lips spread tight against his lips in a wolfish grin. Little David might or might not recognize him, but people were going to have a very, very difficult time recognizing David once he was finished with him...  
  
End Chapter 35 


	34. Chapter 36

The Cost Chapter 36  
  
Once they'd been located, the enrollment records and student files of Spaulding Academy were subpoenaed and transported up to the 24th floor. The whole team, along with other agents requisitioned from other departments, worked all night, going through the most recent years of student records, selecting those individuals who could be tracked down locally, and then categorizing them into 'most likely', 'likely', and 'not likely' piles of folders. All the 'most likely' and 'likely' students would be followed up on. It was a massive job, and, considering the time constrictions they were working under, would likely take too long. The team knew they had to narrow it down more quickly than that, so while the others worked on the big picture, they worked according to their own plan - using more exacting criteria and a healthy dose of intuition.  
  
After pausing a moment to rub his stiff neck, Terry Baldwin watched Samantha push a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and wearily lean back in her chair. She sat directly across the table from him, and he saw her wince and, using the arms of her chair to raise herself up slightly, adjust her seating. He remembered the injury done to her leg and wondered if sitting so long bothered it.  
  
As though sensing his gaze, she looked up and tossed the file she held onto the table. "That's it. That's all of them," she told him, blowing a short breath of air through her lips. The strand of hair that had again fallen across her face lifted, then settled back, arching down over her forehead and right eye.  
  
"Nice work," he said, deciding not to comment on her discomfort. After giving her a brief smile, he looked back down at the file in front of him. His thoughts, however, remained on the blonde agent who now busied herself by gathering the files spread out in front of her into neat piles.  
  
He'd been watching the woman causing Jack so much inner turmoil with interest all night. What he'd seen intrigued him. Even after a night's worth of coffee pick-me-ups, she was easy on the eye. More importantly, however, she had a quiet, inner stillness about her that he knew would have attracted Jack effortlessly. Maria had it too, though there was always an edge to Maria's calm that spelled danger when things did not go as she wanted. Samantha, on the other hand, seemed more accepting of life's disappointments and deviations; they touched her, but they did not anger her or make her need to lash out. Learning the why of that acceptance, he decided, would have been an intriguing exercise in itself.  
  
Add to that calm demeanour her confidence - she seemed a woman who dealt with the world head on - and the dry, intelligent sense of humour she'd displayed that evening in conversations he'd overheard, and he was sure Samantha Spade was the perfect temptation so far as Jack Malone and his peace of mind were concerned.  
  
He would have been hard put to profile anyone more fitting for his friend.  
  
Sensing movement, Terry looked up in time to see Samantha glance to her left. He followed her gaze to the end of the table, unsurprised to find she was looking towards where Jack sat engrossed in conversation with Danny Taylor. Terry smiled inwardly. Although Jack was obviously smitten, the night spent watching the two of them had assured him of one important certainty: the attraction was very definitely mutual. This was not an 'I'm screwing the boss because he's the boss' sort of affair...Quite frankly, he was absolutely sure Samantha Spade adored Jack Malone. She seemed to quietly cling to every movement of Jack's hand, every intonation of his voice, and seemed aware of him even when concentrating deeply on something else. Whatever the connection between them, it amazed him.  
  
And somewhat frightened him. He watched Jack, thinking. They played with the intensity of their relationship, and he was sure they thought they could handle it, but-  
  
Baldwin saw Jack stiffen and look over to meet his gaze. After raising an eyebrow at his friend, Terry glanced away. Earlier, when he'd been surreptitiously watching Jack and Samantha speak together over a case file, Jack had looked across at him and frowned, letting him know that he knew he was being watched and wasn't happy about it. Terry had grinned back at him, unrepentant. Profiling killers was his job. Watching relationships that intrigued him was his hobby - a hobby Jack wasn't about to interfere with, no matter how much it displeased him to be the unwilling focus of it.  
  
Later, Jack casually walked over, and, putting both hands on the table beside Terry, had leaned on them and said in a low tone, "If you don't stop putting us under your damned microscope, I'm going to have you moved to another room."  
  
Terry had merely grinned and turned his attention back to his work.  
  
Now, hours later, Baldwin found himself again needing to consciously draw his thoughts away from the messy relationship his friend had got himself into. Looking at the 'most likely' pile of folders sitting in front of him, he felt confident that the ex-student scenario was the right one. It made the most sense simply because of how much less effort it would take on Spaulding's part: he'd be able to choose quickly, would need to do little background work, and would likely know exactly how to approach his victim when the time came.  
  
It was the logical way to go, and Spaulding was nothing if not logical.  
  
Hopefully, that logic would help lead to his downfall.  
  
Taking one last look at the top of the blond head now bent over one of the files, he picked up his pen and resumed making notes.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Why do so many things in life end up in groups of three?" Baldwin questioned, tossing his pen down on the three files they'd decided were the most likely candidates for Spaulding's attention.  
  
Both Martin and Danny looked up from their work but said nothing. Jack looked over from his position at the end of the table and arched an eyebrow. "The number of times you've married put aside, they don't."  
  
"Shut up," Terry replied amiably. "I'm trying to be philosophical here - or something - I don't think that's the right word for it, but you know what I mean."  
  
Jack yawned. "I'm sure I could think of a smart comeback to that, but I'm too tired and the coffee's run out."  
  
"Thank God," the tall man grunted. He gestured to indicate the files in front of him and said, "Now, if these are the three we want to concentrate on, we've got to organize surveillance."  
  
"For that kind of manpower we need approval."  
  
"When does Van Doren get in?"  
  
Jack looked at his watch. "An hour or so. She said she'd be in early."  
  
"What's your gut telling you?"  
  
Knowing Terry wasn't talking about Van Doren's arrival time, Jack indicated the file folder to Baldwin's left. "David Walters is the most likely on paper. His daddy's someone big on Wall Street. Lots of money. Lots of time spent in the press. His son's picture matches up with Spaulding's type. The kid's school counsellors's report indicates he's quiet and unassuming, bookish, even. He's a kid who falls mostly below the radar, except for his being in the school's international aid awareness group, and there's a thing in his file that says he helped raise money to support education in Zaire," he said, consulting his notes. Looking back up, he grimaced. "Lot's of story material in that, I suppose, if he were to disappear. Spaulding would love it."  
  
Putting his notes down on the table in front of him, Jack leaned back. "We still need to talk to some people," he said, feeling that one important detail of information was missing. "We need to find out if anyone can identify someone Spaulding may have taken a particular interest in, someone who perhaps made disparaging comments about him. I think we should be looking for an indication that a boy might have spurned Spaulding's advances in some way. Any rejection would increase the likelihood of that boy becoming a target. If we can find a story like that involving one of these three, there's no doubt in my mind but that that kid would be the next one on Spaulding's list. Spaulding isn't a man who forgets."  
  
Considering what Spaulding was doing now in the name of fifteen minutes, Terry could agree whole-heartedly.  
  
Everyone turned when a bleary-eyed Samantha entered the work area holding a freshly brewed pot of coffee. "I made some fresh," she said, flourishing the pot of dark liquid towards the four men before putting it down on the hot plate they'd brought in to keep the dark brew hot and near by. Turning, she looked at them and commented, "I'm feeling hungry, though. Do you think we could order something in for breakfast?"  
  
"I'm not really hungry," Martin said. Looking at the others, he added, "If we're finished here for now, I'd rather grab a few minutes shut eye." Danny nodded in agreement. Rubbing his flat stomach, he added, "I don't think I could hold anything down on top of the mud we've been drinking all night." Vivian wasn't there to make a decision: she had left around two a.m., planning to grab a couple hours sleep, get her son off to school, and return by nine. Bill Ganter, who, as Terry had predicted, had been overjoyed at being asked to help, had been called away at three a.m. on a case in his jurisdiction. He'd left with obvious reluctance, assuring them he'd be back as soon as possible.  
  
Terry leaned back in his chair and raised his arms up over his head in a long stretch. "I vote for getting outta here. A change of scenery would be good, and walking will jumpstart my brain. That liquid poison we've been drinking has turned it to mush." Turning to Jack, he said, "Come on. It'll be good to get out. Put some heavy duty cholesterol in your veins, and you'll be a new man."  
  
As soon as Jack agreed, Terry turned innocent, hazel eyes towards Samantha and included her in the invitation, asking, "Why don't you come, too? I'd like to review Mike Flemming's history, and you're the one who did his file, right?"  
  
He didn't even flinch when Jack threw a decidedly barbed glance his way.  
  
Though not aware of the undercurrents between the two men, Samantha still paused before replying. Glancing quickly at Jack, she decided that in spite of Baldwin's knowing about their affair, he would be too much of a gentleman to bring it up at breakfast. Besides, she was starved, and the thought of fried eggs and toast was making her mouth water. "Sure. I could do with the exercise," she said, nodding her acceptance.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Baldwin took control of the outing from the beginning, making sure that Samantha walked between them on the way to the restaurant, controlling the conversation on the way there, and then ensuring that Jack and Samantha sat beside each other in the small booth they were ushered to. Jack, Terry noticed with some amusement, was understandably uneasy during most of the meal. In spite of his friend's fears, however, he lived up to Samantha's perhaps mistaken impression of him and remained very circumspect, saying nothing out of place. Keeping his conversation firmly on the case, the weather, and his breakfast preferences, he watched Jack slowly relax enough to actually enjoy a few of their stolen minutes away from the case.  
  
When they rose to return, Terry felt satisfied he'd gathered all the observations he needed to form an opinion about the relationship his friend had got himself into. Here, he believed, were two people connected on many levels. The affair had connected them physically, that was obvious in the way they shared their personal space and in the subtle, almost unnoticeable chance touches that occurred between them. There was more, though. Looking across the table at the two of them, the word 'yearning' popped into his head. Mulling it around, he decided that it perfectly described the invisible bond between them now: Samantha yearned for Jack the way any woman would yearn to recapture a moment of happiness, the way one yearns for something within reach that's untouchable. That Jack yearned for Samantha in the same way was plain: he wanted, but he couldn't have - at least not to keep - and it tore him apart.  
  
The walk back to the FBI building gave him more time to think. He could imagine that the affair had been fulfilling for both of them. Both had their reasons for being attracted to and needing the specifics they found in the other. Those specifics weren't going to change because Jack was married or because their jobs said they couldn't have an intimate relationship or because they felt they shouldn't feel the way they did.  
  
Looking at them as they entered the building in front of them, he realised he didn't know how it would end, but their story sure as hell wasn't over, no matter how Jack protested it had to be.  
  
When the elevator opened onto the 24th floor, Samantha stepped out first. Jack, motioning to Terry to precede him, muttered in a low tone, "Thank you for your restraint."  
  
Terry smiled and replied in an equally low voice, "Don't thank me yet."  
  
Jack paused, then shook his head. He should have known better. Of course Terry's not embarrassing the crap out of him this morning only meant he was waiting for a better opportunity.  
  
* * * *  
  
Later, with the team around the table feeling slightly more refreshed, Jack went over where things stood with the case. When he reached the topic of Hutchinson Ave, he said, "There's only one building in the general area Spaulding was dropped off in that could possibly house someone without drawing attention. Power was disconnected on the 1st of January. It was then re-connected under a different name two weeks later. The billing address is a post office box number. Ownership of the building, however, hasn't changed. The owner's been contacted, and he says he hasn't had it re- connected, so I say this is our place. We're going in as soon as they organize the team. We've got to get him as quickly as possible."  
  
"And if he's not there? What if we're wrong?" Vivian asked quietly. Jack had surprised her by putting her in charge of this part of the operation. She'd expected he would want to be there, but had not spoken her thoughts aloud. Later, she would wonder if, on some level, he had known what they would find.  
  
"Then we'll have explored and closed one avenue of investigation," Jack said in a reasonable tone. "It'll make finding him easier by one building." Turning to Martin and Danny, he said, "You've got the three guys we're concentrating on. Do the interviews, look for what we've talked about. Terry - and Bill Ganter, if he gets back - will be here to synthesize information as it comes in from the resource people and us. He'll filter information to me, but that doesn't mean if anyone on this team wants to talk to me, they can't. You know my number."  
  
Looking over at Samantha, he said, "Sam, you're with me. We're going to be the loose canons here, picking up anything that looks like it needs investigating. I want to start with doing another trace on Spaulding's credit card activity for yesterday, then check out the area around where that last call of his originated."  
  
Samantha nodded, understanding that what he was really setting himself up for was to be available quickly for anything. It made good sense in more ways than one. There'd be the cost of his not being involved in any one particular area, but that would be compensated by his flexibility of movement.  
  
As the others rose, Samantha said, "I'll go look at his credit card. There was nothing yesterday for the day before."  
  
Jack nodded. He wasn't hoping for much, but you never knew. "Let me know what you find. After that, I think we should take a look at David Walters. I know we've assigned him out, but I'll feel better if we take a look ourselves."  
  
Samantha looked at him curiously, surprised he was honing in on this one particular boy. Making no comment, she nodded, trusting his intuition.  
  
* * *  
  
She found what she'd been hoping for since they'd arrived back in New York. Graham Spaulding had used the credit card issued to his Wilson persona two days ago. The small store that had accepted the card, however, hadn't filed the charge until the following day.  
  
Spaulding had bought furniture.  
  
Grabbing the address of the store, Samantha stood up and walked quickly to Jack's office. "I think we've got something. He's buying furniture."  
  
"So he's either fixing up his old place or moving somewhere new."  
  
She nodded. "I've got the address of the store. Want me to go ask some questions? Unless he took whatever he bought with him, he'd have to have it delivered, right?"  
  
Jack frowned, sure that would have happened only if Spaulding were deteriorating mentally faster than he had expected. Keeping this thought to himself, he said only, "I'll come with you."  
  
Passing through his office doorway, they stopped abruptly when Jack's phone rang. Turning back, he quickly walked across his office floor, reached across his desk, and picked up the receiver.  
  
"Malone."  
  
He listened for a while, and then said tersely, "We're on the way. Don't let anyone touch anything."  
  
Samantha, who had guessed from his tone of voice that something big had happened, hid her dismay when he told her, "They're at the place on Hutchinson. He's not there, but it's pretty sure he was. And they've found a body there." As he moved past her, he continued, "The place is pretty much empty; Vivian figures he's moved."  
  
Another body. It was not unexpected, but it was far too soon after the last one. Samantha wasn't certain what that meant, but a tremor passed through her as she thought of the crazed anger that must have made Spaulding lash out again so quickly. Filled with dread, she kept pace with Jack as they headed towards the elevator and their ninth body.  
  
End Chapter 36 


	35. Chapter 37

The Cost By: Mariel  
  
Chapter 37  
  
Rather than taking time to stop and talk with him in person, Jack phoned Terry while on the way down the elevator. "You hear about Hutchinson Ave?" he asked.  
  
When Baldwin answered in the affirmative, Jack told him, "Sam and I are on the way there now. I need you to send someone to 'Malcomb's Fine Furniture' in our place. Explain what we need and get them out there as soon as you can." He stopped to listen a moment, then said, "Yeah, that's right. Sam says it's just a small place. Let me know what they find. And for heaven's sake, make sure you send someone with a head on their shoulders."  
  
Samantha looked over at him, noting both the comment and the tone in which it was made. To have spoken that way, Jack had to be feeling more stress than he was showing. Looking away, she admitted to herself that she'd have been lying if she said she didn't feel it too.  
  
Pressure was mounting from all directions. Van Doren needed some positive results fast, or her fight to keep Jack on the case would be lost. The press was out for a story, and this case had become their cause celebre, no matter that the sensationalism they lent to the proceedings helped nothing. And Jack - she glanced at him quickly as the elevator slid to a stop. Another body. Another boy dead. It didn't matter how much Jack understood it wasn't his fault, he was still going to assume blame...  
  
The elevator door opened with a slow swoosh. Sending a small prayer to anyone listening that it all be over soon, she stepped forward.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Thirty minutes later, they stood beside the body of Spaulding's most recent victim. It wasn't easy to look at. This boy had been more severely tortured and beaten than any of the previous ones, and by the time Jack turned away, the image of the broken body had been added permanently to his mental album of horrors. Taking his cell phone out, he pressed buttons, then held it to his ear. When the phone picked up on the other end, his voice rasped, "He's going over the deep end fast, Terry. The body's a mess. It's like he wanted to tear it apart."  
  
He listened a moment, then shook his head. "We don't know. The state the body's in, it's impossible to tell. Have any of the teams reported back in? Has anyone been reported missing?"  
  
Samantha, who had moved away from the body when Jack had, looked back at it. Could that broken lump of flesh be one of the boys whose picture they'd examined and whose file they'd read last night? Could any of the smiling features they'd seen in all those countless files be hidden beneath the abrasions, bruises and swelling? She closed her eyes, for a moment overwhelmed.  
  
When she opened them, however, she did so with a new resolve. What was done, was done. You couldn't change the past; you could only use it to help you in the future. This boy was dead - now they had to concentrate on preventing it from happening to another.  
  
Jack was still on the phone. Concentrating on the one-sided conversation again, she heard him say, "The timing and the ferocity are both important-" He stopped abruptly, listening, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so."  
  
Jack turned to look at the body. "There may be a chance he's on a spree, but I don't see him being at the point where he'd kill anyone who crossed his path-" Again, he was cut off, and he stopped to listen. Walking away from the body towards the doorway, he finally said, "Check in with the teams out working on the Academy students. Martin and Danny should have something by now, too. See if any of the boys are not where they're supposed to be. Check with NYPD to see if they have anything. That's all we can do for now." Again, he listened a moment, then said goodbye and hung up.  
  
"We've got to find out who this kid is," he said, turning to look across the room at the body.  
  
Samantha, who had followed him, nodded. Both turned when Vivian approached them. "Spaulding has definitely been living here. My guess is not too long ago." She looked around the room and explained, "There's no dust, so he couldn't have moved out too long ago." Glancing back at where the body still lay, she added, "Why he left his calling card here is anyone's guess."  
  
Samantha looked at Jack. "His having moved out recently fits in with the furniture thing. He's moved somewhere more permanent. You obviously don't buy new furniture for a place like this."  
  
Jack looked at her, glad for the distraction. "Good observation. Terry's going to call us as soon as the team he sent out to Malcomb's calls in. Maybe they'll have something we can work with."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Jack watched as the body was carried through the front door and out to the waiting ambulance. Photographers, reporters, and the merely curious milled about outside. They obeyed the yellow police tape put up to keep the more aggressively interested at bay, but still created a presence that made those responsible for keeping the area secure nervously alert. The reporters, of course, were thrusting their microphones into the face of anyone on the other side of the tape that came within range, hoping for something interesting to report- or, barring that, something that with a little ingenuity could be made to sound interesting.  
  
Standing inside, looking out through one of the boarded up windows, Jack grimaced in distaste and wondered what it would be like to earn one's living that way. Realising the thought was more than a little unfair - and due only to his recent less-than-pleasant media experience - he looked at Samantha, who, like a shadow, had been carefully following him about since they'd left the Federal Building.  
  
"I wonder if we should say something to them," he said.  
  
Samantha looked at him, surprised. There were many things Jack did, but speak to the press under anything other than duress or as part of a ploy to draw out a suspect? She had a hard time imagining it. Then she re- evaluated. Speaking to the press now would let Spaulding know Jack was still in control. Whether or not that would help or hinder things, she wasn't sure. It did bring forth the worried thought that it might push Spaulding over the edge he seemed to be sitting on so precariously. "What if he sees your talking to the press now as a challenge?" she asked. "What if it pushes him into going on that spree you were talking about with Terry?"  
  
Jack held her gaze wordlessly, then turned to look out the window again. Slowly, he nodded. He couldn't handle another death on his conscience. Moving to face her, he made his decision. "Yeah, you're right." Then, looking about, he asked in a totally different tone, "But if I'm not going to talk to them, I want to avoid them. How good are you at leaving by the back way so no one sees you?"  
  
She smiled. "Better than you'd ever imagine."  
  
His lips curved. "We already know I'm an expert. We'll be back in the office before they know we're not here."  
  
Samantha raised an eyebrow at the casual reference to his once frequent use of the rear exit of her apartment building. Saying nothing, however, she followed him towards where she knew a door led out to the back alley. They could circle around and be in their car without anyone knowing they'd left the building - provided there was no one staking out the back.  
  
As luck would have it, the press had decided all the entertainment lay in the body now safely ensconced in the ambulance. The alley was clear, and they returned to the Federal Building without incident.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * "I sent Fred Smith and a guy by the name of Cooper out to the furniture store," Terry reported as soon as Jack entered the office area. "And how did I get roped into being your person in charge when you're away?"  
  
"Right place, right time," Jack said, striding past his friend and entering his office. Turning when he reached his desk, he asked, "So, what did they find?"  
  
"Guy answering Spaudling's description walked into the store a few days ago and bought some furniture - nice, leather stuff. About eight thousand dollars worth. Had it delivered to a place in the Bronx. Our guys followed the lead and discovered the address was one of those storage places. They tracked down the truck driver, and he said when he got there, there were instructions for him to leave everything in a particular storage garage. He did as he was told, locked up like the note said, and left. He saw no one. Our guys had the storage garage opened, but there was nothing there. Spaulding had already cleared it out."  
  
"So he's not quite as crazy as we could have hoped," Jack commented, feeling a sense of disappointment.  
  
"Nope. It'd've been nice if he'd just had it delivered to his new place."  
  
"Damn. Have they looked into the particulars of who rented the space? They'll need to check truck rentals, too. He'd have needed something to move everything from point 'A' to point 'B'."  
  
"And considering the size and amount of furniture, he'd have had to hire someone to help, too. They're working on that now." There was a pause, then Terry said, "We do have one potential ace up our sleeve."  
  
Jack looked up, his interest caught. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, apparently one of the chairs Spaulding ordered wasn't ready. They're to deliver it tomorrow."  
  
Jack's brows furrowed. "No way."  
  
"I kid you not."  
  
"So if we-"  
  
"Exactly. This could be the opportunity we've been waiting for."  
  
Thinking rapidly, Jack said, "To stay on the safe side, we've got to continue keeping an eye on the Academy kids."  
  
Terri nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. He might decide to do someone in before the new chair arrives. I don't think he's on much of a schedule."  
  
"So we stake out the storage compartment." Jack's voice held a touch of wonder at how simple that sounded.  
  
"That's what I'd do if I were you." He bent over to pick up his briefcase. "And on that happy note," he said, hefting the weight of it in his left hand, "I must bid you adieu, my friend."  
  
Jack looked up at him in surprise.  
  
"Hey," the tall man said with a smile, "I have a real job, you know. The B&B murders, remember? The reason I'm here in the first place? They found another body over in Jersey early this morning. Just got the call. They're sending a car over; I should be outta here in about fifteen minutes or so."  
  
Jack took a moment to take it in. Looking at his friend solemnly, he held his gaze and said, "I've appreciated your help. Thanks."  
  
Terry made a deprecating gesture. His eyes crinkling in a knowing smile, he said, "It was like old times, wasn't it? Sometimes I miss this stuff, you know." "I know, I know - but you'd never put up with the traffic. You've said that already. Besides, you love tracking those serial crazies."  
  
"That's true. It'd be hard to give up the good life." Sobering, Terry said, "I don't know what to say about the other stuff."  
  
Jack shrugged, knowing what he was referring to. "Life's a bitch."  
  
"Yeah," his friend responded, wishing there were some words of wisdom he could add. "Be good to yourself - and do the best you can, okay?"  
  
"I always do, Terry," Jack replied, wishing he knew what 'the best' was. Not wanting to delve into things, he inhaled quickly and turned his attention to Terry's case. "That's three bodies you've had in this area, isn't it?"  
  
Understanding, Terry allowed him the change of topic. "Yeah. The second one I looked at I'm not sure belongs to my serial guy, but the one phoned in this morning sounds like a dead ringer - pardon the pun. The body I was originally called in to look at was definitely part of the series."  
  
"Any closer to finding him?"  
  
"We're closer to finding him every time he kills someone and lets us find the body, Jack. You know that."  
  
"Yeah, but it's a costly way of doing business."  
  
Terry nodded slowly. Jack was right: too many bodies had to add up before they got the sum that pinpointed the murderer and put him away. There was little to be done about it, though. Fate was a hard task master, and those who died- He pulled his mind away from that train of thought. "We'll get him, and you'll get Spaulding. It's just a matter of time."  
  
Jack suppressed a sigh. Time. It was a precious commodity, and, for some poor teen, it was likely running out.  
  
End Chapter 37 


	36. Chapter 38

The Cost by: Mariel  
  
Chapter 38  
  
Samantha placed the phone down carefully. She sat a moment, thinking. Martin had said he was going to phone Jack after he checked on a couple details, but instinct told her Jack would want a heads up in regards to what Martin had just told her. Rising, she went to find him.  
  
Nearing his door, she stopped when she saw Jack and Vivian standing in front of his window. Though their backs were to her, it was obvious they were deep in conversation. Unnoticed, and not wanting to disturb them, she stepped back to wait her turn.  
  
Their voices carried to where she stood by the door...  
  
"Jack," Vivian said in a reasonable tone, "all I'm saying is that you've got to call her. You should have spoken to her last night. She tried to get you this morning, and when you weren't here, she called me and left a message. I got it when I arrived, and since she didn't sound too happy, I phoned her back. She says she doesn't know if you're getting her calls."  
  
Jack lifted a hand to pinch the top of his nose. Maria knew damned well he was getting her messages. She was just calling Vivian in as a reinforcement. "I've been getting her calls, but I can't call her in the middle of the night, can I? And that's the only time I've had lately." At Vivian's disbelieving stare, he said, "Listen, she was showering when I phoned the girls last night. And to be honest, it was nice to talk to them and not have to argue with her afterwards. She could have-" He stopped abruptly, then asked, "Did she say what she wanted?"  
  
Vivian shook her head. "No, but in regards to your arguing, I'm sure your still living at the hotel has something to do with that. And the fact you didn't get home to see Hannah's project before she took it to school doesn't help you any." She paused a second, then added,"I doubt it helped that she had a meeting to go to last night and could have used you around to sit for the kids, either."  
  
She stopped then, knowing he didn't really need a list of his shortcomings as a husband and parent. Her eyes dark pools of concern, she told him, "She's really angry with you this time, Jack. In her eyes, you've once again dropped her and the kids for a case." Biting back the urge to also note that, all things considered, Maria would probably feel more comfortable having him where she could keep a better eye on him, she finished with a gentle, "She wants this over and done with. She wants you back home, with them, living a normal life again."  
  
Still watching from the doorway, Samantha saw Jack turn towards Vivian, a telltale flash of guilt crossing his face. She felt herself frown, feeling a momentary spurt of anger at Vivian. Of course Jack knew he should be living at home- he would have had to have been deaf, dumb, and blind not to have been aware that living at the hotel was adding fuel to his wife's already steadily burning anger - but he had needed to get away from her blame, and from her constant questioning of his actions. Staying at the hotel had kept him sane... She clenched her fists. No one was more aware of how much time it was taking to catch Spaulding. Nor was anyone more aware - rightly or wrongly - that he was responsible for capturing the murderer and had so far failed miserably to do so.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward. Jack didn't need more guilt piled on him just now. With a quick tap on the door jamb, she breezed into the office. "Hey," she nodded in greeting to Vivian. Turning to Jack, she said, "Sorry to interrupt, but Martin just called to say that David Walter's gone missing."  
  
Jack turned abruptly to look at her. "That's impossible," he blurted.  
  
Samantha wished that were true. "I don't know exactly what happened yet," she told him, "but he's not in the house, and the people in charge of watching the place didn't see him leave. Martin arrived a few minutes ago, discovered he'd left, and is talking to his younger brother now, trying to figure out where he's gone and how. He should be calling you shortly."  
  
"Christ," Jack said, running a hand through his thick hair. "What the hell were they doing? What's so-"  
  
He was interrupted by his phone ringing. Striding over, he picked it up and barked, "Malone" into the receiver. He listened a moment, then ordered: "Get out there and see if you can trace where he went. We'll be there in about forty-five minutes. Now, move!"  
  
Hanging up, he turned to Samantha. "That was Martin. We're going over there. Apparently David got a phone call about two hours ago and left. Kid brother says he doesn't know who called, but David's got a secret way out of the house he uses all the time when he wants to meet his buddies without the parents knowing. His brother was sworn to secrecy, but admitted everything when he realised it was the FBI asking the questions."  
  
Suddenly conscious of Vivian still standing there, he switched tracks quickly. "Thanks for the heads up," he said, meaning it. Once again she'd been thrown the task of trying to save his sorry ass where his marriage was concerned, and he appreciated her tact. "I'll have to deal with it later, though. If you two talk again, let her know I'll call tonight."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Just before they turned onto the street David Walter lived on, Jack received a call from Danny, who had been staking out the storage building Spaulding had rented.  
  
"Just letting you know nothing's happening here," he said. "We've got a great location across from the storage space he's rented, so there's no way we can miss him. The chair was delivered just before we got here. The manager let him in. He said he got a phone call yesterday asking him to."  
  
Pulling the car to an easy stop in front of the Walter's residence, Jack said, "Okay, just sit tight and wait, then. He'll show up at some point. Sam and I will be there as soon as we sort out what happened with David Walters. He disappeared right out from under our noses. His kid brother says he does this a lot, but this is a lousy time for him to pull a disappearing act."  
  
Martin had been waiting for them to arrive, and went out to meet them as the got out of the car. Cross-armed, Samantha and Jack leaned against the sedan and listened intently as he explained he'd found a witness who claimed to have seen David speaking to a man sitting in a moving van. The witness didn't know if David had got into the van, he'd just been walking by and hadn't paid much attention. A store keeper was also tapped as a witness: he'd noticed a moving van that had stopped for a moment outside his flower shop while he'd been outside watering the hanging plants. His description of the van matched the description of the one the first witness had seen. He was quite sure the driver looked like the picture of Spaulding they showed him.  
  
Mentally mapping out the two sightings, Samantha said, "David could have been in the back of the van when they passed the flower shop." Looking around, she asked, "Where would Spaulding take him?"  
  
"He's driving a moving van. Perhaps he's going to pick up his chair. Maybe he used the excuse of needing help to lure David away," Martin suggested.  
  
Not thinking so, Samantha shook her head, but held her peace.  
  
"Keep looking for people who noticed the van," Jack instructed Martin. "We may be able to track his general direction that way. And keep in touch about what you find." Pushing himself off the car, he walked around to the driver's side. "Sam and I are on our way to the storage facility," he said over the roof of the sedan. "There's a chance he's on his way there, since he has the van."  
  
Sliding into the driver's seat, he slammed the door closed and turned the key in the ignition. The likelihood of Spaulding deciding to pick up the boy and the chair at the same time wasn't likely, but he was beginning to doubt any of Spaulding's actions would be predictable from here on in. In fact, something told him that predictability, if it had ever been there, was gone for good.  
  
As history would later tell it, he was absolutely right.  
  
End Chapter 38 


	37. Chapter 39

Happy Monday, once again. I thought I'd have this all ready for your perusal, but my beta is lost somewhere in the wilds of Boston! That means you must blame me for whatever errors there are in this chapter - she's read this, but not the final version. Thanks as always for the support, the reviews, and the encouragement. It's appreciated!  
  
Only two more chapters to go....  
  
The Cost by: Mariel  
  
Chapter 39  
  
They sat in the building across from the storage area for an hour, Jack's impatience growing by the minute. During the first half hour, he had spoken with Danny and the others doing surveillance. Since then, he'd waited uncomfortably. Something was wrong. If Spaulding was coming, he'd have been here by now. That meant he had David somewhere, doing God knew what to him. Feeling Samantha's concerned gaze, he moved restlessly and looked over at her. He caught her eye and she smiled slightly, then looked away, calmly turning to gaze out the window. Resisting an urge to go stand beside her, he could still admit it would have felt good to do so.  
  
And would have felt better still to stand with his arms around her, absorbing some of the silent support she had given him all day.  
  
He sighed, and looked away.  
  
A few moments later, his thoughts were interrupted.  
  
"He's not coming here, is he?"  
  
He turned. Samantha moved closer, her eyes regarding him with concern.  
  
"No."  
  
"So where would he go?"  
  
"He's driving a van," he replied in a low voice. "He could take David anywhere he wanted. He could be out of the city by now."  
  
Samantha shook her head. "He hasn't taken any of his victims far. There's got to be somewhere he feels safe. Somewhere we wouldn't think to look."  
  
Jack's mind whirled with possibilities. Wherever Spaulding was living was his first thought, but they had no idea where that was. A sense of panic washed over him at the impossibility of finding him. Firmly squashing it, he forced himself to think. Spaulding would go somewhere familiar, somewhere he felt safe; somewhere they'd never look, and somewhere that, if the location was discovered, would cause the most possible embarrassment. It would have to be his new digs, he thought, his heart sinking. Or- Without thinking, he stood quickly and grabbed Samantha's arm. Making a motion with his head towards the door, he said, "These guys don't need us to sit and watch. Let's go."  
  
Turning, he headed for the door, walking past Danny and the others without explanation.  
  
Following, Samantha saw Danny frown. When he turned and gave her an enquiring look, she shrugged and lifted her hands palm up in an 'I don't know, but I'll soon find out' gesture as she went past him.  
  
Danny nodded in understanding. When Jack moved, you followed first and asked questions later.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Once they were safely in the car and driving away from the storage facility, Jack explained himself. "CSI found traces of several different blood types where we found the body yesterday. That means Spaulding likely killed a number of his victims there, and then deposited the bodies around the city afterward. It would have been risky, but dumping a body in secret is easy compared to drugging, torturing, raping, and murdering someone in secret. For that, you need a very special place. He found one and used it more than once. He just might try using it again."  
  
Understanding now where he was going, Samantha frowned. "Even after we've discovered it?"  
  
"Who'd think to look there?" he asked in a reasonable tone.  
  
"It's a long shot, though," she said, not convinced. "And it'd be risky for him, this soon after we found the body there. What if CSI went back again for more samples or something?"  
  
"I'm not saying he's being completely logical," Jack admitted. "In fact, he'd be taking a huge risk. I just think if he's looking for a safe place to kill, there's a good chance he might go back to a place that's worked for him before.  
  
"That's what your gut instinct is telling you?"  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
"Then we'd be crazy not to go look."  
  
His breath caught in his throat. Her faith in him shook him, filled him, gladdened him. No recriminations about why he hadn't thought of it before, no questions about what made him think he knew anything about anything after all this time of failing...she just trusted him. Without thinking, he reached over and put his hand on her arm where it lay on the armrest between them. "Thank you," he said simply.  
  
Placing her right hand over his, she squeezed it. "We're going to get him."  
  
Jack nodded and reluctantly withdrew his hand. Her confidence and trust that he was right, however, he held close, using it to help combat the fear he might be terribly, terribly wrong.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Deciding it was best to make their approach through the back alley, they drove the last small distance slowly, pulling over and parking several yards away when they saw the shape of a moving van parked behind the building they knew Spaulding had only recently used as his home and killing grounds.  
  
"Call for backup," Jack ordered tersely, opening his door and getting out quickly.  
  
Samantha frowned, knowing he shouldn't be going in alone. Protocol, however, was obviously not foremost on Jack's mind, and she watched his departing back with worried eyes as she dialled for help.  
  
By the time her call was made, Jack was out of sight. Quickly exiting the vehicle, she closed the door quietly and followed in his footsteps.  
  
He'd left the back door open. Gun drawn and ready, she stepped into the darkness, her senses alert to sound or movement. Sidestepping down the hallway carefully, she moved slowly on silent feet towards the stairs she knew led to Spaulding's old living quarters. She paused a moment, listening carefully, then resumed her quiet progress, praying nothing happened before she reached Jack.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Having navigated the darkened building with surprising ease, Jack paused at the slightly open doorway he knew led to Spaulding's old living area. Pale light spilled weakly into the hallway, assuring him someone was there. Inhaling slowly, he held his gun in both hands and listened for movement, then carefully put his eye up to the space between door and door jamb.  
  
He could see only a part of the room, but the part he could see was enough. Though an old upholstered chair obscured the lower half, he had a clear view of the upper part of a naked body lying on the floor, and though the head was facing away, he was certain he was looking at David Walters. His heart skipped a beat, then began a deepened, thudding rhythm when he recognized the man standing over him. While Jack watched, Spaulding circled the body, gazing down at it with a look of distaste on his face. Once he had walked the whole way around it, he slowly squatted beside the motionless form and reached out a hand to toy with the boy's hair.  
  
Jack heard a 'tut tut' sound, then Spaulding murmured, "You're such a stupid, stupid boy." Sitting back on his haunches and resting his forearms on his thighs, Spaulding cocked his head to one side. "Stupid people deserve to die, you know," he said dispassionately. "You aren't the first to learn that pain and humiliation aren't always enough." He sighed and leaned forward to again stroke David's curly dark hair.  
  
After a silent moment, he rose. Looking down at the body, he added in a matter-of-fact voice: "And you won't be the last."  
  
That said, he walked out of view.  
  
Jack held his breath, waiting. When Spaulding returned, a knife gleamed in his hand.  
  
His back towards Jack, Spaulding knelt down beside the boy. Jack gripped his gun tightly. A slight motion out of the corner of his eye made him turn, and he saw Samantha had arrived. In the same split second he decided he could wait no longer. Thrusting the door open, he stepped into the room and trained his gun on Spaulding.  
  
"Stop, or I'll shoot."  
  
The words sounded too scripted to be taken seriously, but they proved effective. In the dim light of a single lamp, Spaulding paused and turned his head, his eyes blazing.  
  
"You-" he rasped, looking up at Jack from his crouched position beside the body.  
  
"Drop the knife."  
  
Spaulding remained motionless.  
  
"Drop the knife," Jack insisted, his gun trained unwaveringly on his adversary.  
  
The knife trembled over the boy's chest as Spaulding hesitated. He looked down at the body. After an elongated pause, he finally turned his face to Jack again. His expression confident, he asked in a silken tone, "Why, Jack...do you want to end this all now?" Slowly lowering the tip of his weapon towards the body, he continued, "You could, you know. Just one pull of the trigger..."  
  
There was no mistaking the hate that laced each word. Or the challenge.  
  
Resisting the invitation, Jack repeated, "I said drop the knife."  
  
Spaulding stared at him a long moment, not moving. Then, with a moue of regret, he let the knife slip from his fingers. It landed harmlessly on the boy's stomach, then dropped with a dull clatter to the floor. Looking down at where it lay beside the body, he sighed. "I suppose there's always next time," he said regretfully.  
  
Rising out of his crouched position slowly, he turned to face Jack completely, his face losing it's look of regret and hardening into scorn. "You and your stupid 'doing the right thing'. You've made another mistake Jack. You never get anything right, do you? He shook his head slowly, "You- " His eyes suddenly darted towards the doorway. "Ah," he said, his face relaxing into a calculating smile. "You brought your friend along. How pleasant." Jack kept his gun trained on Spaulding.  
  
"Sam?" he asked, not looking around.  
  
"I'm here."  
  
"Sam?" Spaulding asked, making it obvious he was taking note of the name. "I do believe I've seen you before. Pleased to meet you," he said, examining Samantha with hard eyes, "though you may live to regret your role in-"  
  
Making a gesture with his gun towards the corner of the room, Jack cut into Spaulding's words abruptly, barking, "Move over there." When Spaulding complied, he told Samantha, "Go check the boy."  
  
Samantha moved quickly. Kneeling down beside the nude body, she felt for a pulse. She turned to Jack, relief washing her features. "He's alive," she told him, her fingers monitored the boy's steady pulse. Resisting the urge to move him in case there was internal damage, she told Jack, "I only see bruising." Trying not to grimace at said bruises and welts and other signs of abuse, she took off her jacket and placed it over the boy's still form. As soon as she did, she realised it would become part of evidence, but it didn't matter. She needed to offer the unconscious boy some form of comfort.  
  
Spaulding's voice came from the corner. "You've deprived me of my fifteen minutes again, Jack. You know I don't like that. I was just getting to the good part. I'll-" he stopped abruptly as three members of the FBI SWAT team swarmed through the doorway, guns ready.  
  
Jack looked over at them. "Nice of you to join us," he said calmly, finally lowering his gun.  
  
He stepped back to allow them room. Spaulding had been cheated of his last victim. He looked across at Samantha, relief washing through him. It was finally over.  
  
His relief was to be short-lived.  
  
End Chapter 39 


	38. Chapter 40

The Cost by: Mariel  
  
Chapter 40  
  
When Jack turned to face Spaulding again, he discovered that an amazing transformation had taken place. Gone was Spaulding's look of rage, hatred, and scorn. Gone, too, was his attitude of confident condescension. Instead, he stood with his shoulders slumped, his eyes unfocussed, his features slack. In a voice that had totally lost its patronizing tone, he pleaded, "Someone help me." He looked around in confusion. Lifting a hand, he let it drop helplessly to his side and whispered, "I think I need help." After looking at the body on the floor, he turned to the agents clustered in the doorway. "I don't know what's happening," he said weakly. Looking at Jack he implored in a shaky voice, "Help me."  
  
In the background, Samantha told the agents that David Walters was alive. Instructions to call an ambulance were given.  
  
His mind still processing the change in his adversary's demeanor, Jack watched as Spaulding meekly allowed himself to be handcuffed.  
  
When it was time for Spaulding to be led out, Jack and Samantha stood to one side and watched silently. Just before the handcuffed man passed through the doorway, he turned his head. Positioned so that only they could see his expression, Spaulding looked directly at Jack and showed a brief flash of teeth, transforming his face from a blank canvas to something animated with evil. The deep, false blue of his eyes flashed, and one lid slowly dropped down in a wink.  
  
Jack remained still, his face expressionless. Spaulding, however, smiled, knowing his dart had hit home. A look of triumph flashed across his features, then, as quickly as it had come, was gone. When he turned away, his face was once again slack and calm, his eyes empty blue pools of confusion.  
  
"Guy's right off his rocker, eh?" one agent commented to another as Spaulding shuffled unsteadily down the hallway towards the stairs.  
  
Jack stood rooted to the spot, realisation of the breadth of his mistake washing over him.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Jack."  
  
He frowned, lost in thought.  
  
"Jack."  
  
A gentle touch on his arm, then, when he did not respond, a soft touch on his cheek. Standing directly in front of him, Samantha waited for him to focus on her. "Everyone's left," she said, glad Jack would have this time to gather his thoughts. "I told them we'll stay until someone from the NYPD can get here to secure the site. They're busy tonight, so with no body to worry about, it may be a while before anyone shows up. And I called Martin and Danny - they're on the way to the hospital. Vivian is holding down the fort at the office." She looked at him with concern. Finally, she asked, "Are you okay?"  
  
He shook his head dully.  
  
Worried, she said, "Let's go outside."  
  
"I made a horrible mistake tonight."  
  
"No," she disagreed. "You saved a boy's life tonight."  
  
He turned dark, haunted eyes to meet hers. "That's what I thought last time, and look at what I unleashed."  
  
"Let's go outside," she urged again, wanting to get away from where shadows of torture and death hovered. "We can talk about it there."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Outside, Samantha got a large cardboard box from a pile of them set next to the doorway and broke it down. After placing it on the top step in front of the back door, she and Jack sat down, their shoulders touching comfortably. The long alley grew dark as the day drew to a close, its entire length quiet and motionless, save for a cat that disappeared quickly once it realised they were staying. The dark shapes of dumpsters, a couple cars, and several piles of cardboard boxes lying beside back exits loomed ever larger as daylight failed. Drifting to them on almost-warm spring air, the hum of traffic from the street out front sounded far away, a dull drone that made the alley feel safely cut off from the rest of the world.  
  
"I should have killed him," Jack said in a low voice. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. "He's going to plead temporary insanity or something, and get off with a slap on the hand."  
  
Samantha shook her head. "No one in their right mind would accept that, not with his history."  
  
"What history? He was acquitted. There's no record. And there was never enough evidence to charge him with the murders we suspect he committed years ago."  
  
"We can prove he's been killing boys for months. He can hardly call it temporary," Samantha said in a practical tone. "And we've done our part. You've done your part," she added for emphasis. "It's out of our hands, now."  
  
"Or on our hands," he said, looking down at his own. "I could have shot him. I should have shot him. It would have looked like a good kill. It could have been over, once and for all."  
  
She let his words settle over them a moment before speaking. What Jack said was true, and she wouldn't argue the point. She had heard, though not seen, Spaulding's challenge about putting "an end to it now." And there was no way in hell she wouldn't have backed up any story Jack gave to justify a shooting. But there was more to consider. Leaning forward so that their shoulders once again touched, she met his eyes and said, "Perhaps it would have been over, but it would have been the wrong thing to do, and you know it. You wouldn't have liked living with it, even if he does deserve to die. His life wasn't yours to take, Jack. You did the right thing." Even, she added silently, if it feels like the wrong thing.  
  
A long, thoughtful silence stretched out between them. After a while, Jack reached over and took Samantha's hand. It felt cool, and he realised that she must be missing the warmth of the jacket she had placed over David. Shrugging his own off easily, he placed it around her shoulders. After she accepted it with a quiet 'thanks', he took her hand again, tucked her arm under his, and drew her more closely to him.  
  
Enjoying the feeling of her wrapped around his arm, he looked down at the hand he held cradled in his own, and asked quietly, "You know how I feel about you, don't you?"  
  
Somewhat taken aback by his change in topic and manner, she looked at him in surprise, then relaxed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Of course I do."  
  
"I just want to make sure you know that hasn't changed. I know I haven't always acted like it."  
  
A wave of affection for him coursed through her. She thought back to all the times since her shooting that she had felt rebuffed by him, hurt by him. And then she thought of all the times he'd shown her, knowingly or not, that he still cared. She thought of their nights in Florida, closing her eyes at the warm physical response the memory brought with it. "Jack, it's okay. I've told you before: I don't think this is just going to up and disappear, but there are others things to consider, and I understand that." She paused and smiled wryly. "Or at least I try to. Life is as it is. We met at the wrong time. You're married. You have two daughters. You need to do what you need to do. And we," she said, clutching at his hand tightly, "we just have to do the best we can. We'll manage, somehow."  
  
Life, she was beginning to believe, was full of doing the right thing and having it feel all wrong...  
  
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, his dress shirt feeling warm and soft against her skin. "Let's just deal with one thing at a time, okay? We've got this case to finish up. You need to get home to see your wife and kids. We'll still be here tomorrow." She paused again, then squeezed the hand that held hers. Trying to keep the tears out of her voice, she added softly, "But thank you for telling me."  
  
They sat in silence, he holding her hand, she leaning against him, both deep in thought...  
  
Everything in life had a cost.  
  
Samantha thought of the man holding her hand and closed her eyes tightly against the emotions he evoked. The cost of loving Jack had been high. She'd given him everything, broken down every barrier she'd ever erected against emotion, allowed herself to open up and be hurt as she never had before. The hurt had been devastating, deep, and long lasting. More powerful than the pain, however, had been the joy of being loved by him, and the knowledge that working with him and sharing his days fulfilled her as nothing else did. She loved him. It was as it was, and she had to live with it.  
  
Wanted to live with it.  
  
He felt her squeeze his hand and closed his eyes. So many things in his life demanded a cost that seemed too high. Keeping his family had demanded that he walk away from the woman beside him. God knew he had tried, but it seemed he needed her on a level he hadn't even known existed. In a complicated, critical world, the simplicity of loving her and being loved in return without question took his breath away, filled a need within him so deep, so primal, that there were times he wondered how he'd lived without it. He could go back to his wife and be with his kids because he knew Samantha would be at work in the morning. Samantha, who took the edge off what was wrong in his marriage, who lifted guilt, encouraged him when his will flagged, and who, quite simply, had enchanted him as no other. He loved her. It was too late to turn back, too late to do anything but accept the cost and cope with paying it as best they could.  
  
Because moments like these made it all worthwhile.  
  
They continued to sit in silence, leaning against each other.  
  
He needed his family but knew he wanted her.  
  
She wanted him but knew he needed his family.  
  
It was a conundrum only love could have created, and their living in this no man's land of want and need and never completely having, the price they paid.  
  
Moving slightly to face her, Jack touched Samantha's cheek when she turned to look up at him. His eyes travelled the gentle planes and angles of her face, and finally settled on her mouth. A sense of yearning overwhelmed him. Knowing he shouldn't, he slowly bent his head to touch his lips to hers.  
  
They both stirred when a car turned into the far end of the alley, its wheels grating loudly over the concrete. By the time it was close enough to catch them fully in its headlights, they had risen and stood facing the car, several feet apart.  
  
End chapter 40 


	39. Epilogue

The Cost by: Mariel  
  
Epilogue  
  
Dressed in blue shirt and pants, Graham Spaulding watched as Jack and Samantha were led into the visitation room. His face remained expressionless as the two agents sat down at the table across from him. No longer enhanced by contact lenses, his dull blue eyes regarded them carefully, but he did not speak, choosing instead to wait.  
  
Jack fanned out the pictures of five teenaged boys on the table. "Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of any of these boys?" he asked.  
  
Spaulding looked down at the pictures spread in front of him and shook his head. Reluctantly looking away from them, he raised his eyes to meet Jack's.  
  
"Agent Malone, you know I don't remember."  
  
Jack sat back in his chair slowly, his eyes never leaving Spaulding's. "No," he disagreed firmly, "what I 'know', is that you remember everything." Again, he asked, "Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of any of these boys?"  
  
Again, Spaulding shook his head. "You're a slow learner, Jack," he said curtly. "It must have been downright painful to teach you in school. I'm sure you've read the reports: I don't remember much of anything, other than that I don't like you. The doctor says I probably never will. Remember, I mean. I'm sure if I got to know you, we'd be great friends," he said, his voice changing into a tone designed to set Jack's teeth on edge. Glancing over at Samantha, he added, "You and your-"  
  
"I don't think so," Jack said, breaking into Spaulding's words. "Right now, we've got five families wondering what happened to their sons. They all disappeared around the time you were murdering boys. I want to know if any of them ended up your victim."  
  
Spaulding looked at the agent, his eyes hard. "What you say I did - and I don't deny I did it - though of course I don't remember," he said in a deprecating manner, "was done in a state of deep psychosis. The psychiatrist explained it all to me. It's lamentable, but I can't be held responsible for what I did in such a state. Nor can I be expected to remember anything. I'm sorry. I can't help you. And you know I would, if I could," he said, his demeanor changing slightly. "The doctor tells me I had reached the point where my psyche was so torn about what I was doing that I was suicidal. I owe my life to you, Jack. You could have killed me, and you didn't. I want you to know I appreciate that."  
  
The look in his eye told them he knew just how much they didn't want his appreciation.  
  
His suggestion that Jack put an end to his life had become a critical part of his insanity plea. Only crazy people, several experts had explained, invited people to end their lives. And only people cognizant of the evil of their wrongdoings could be rehabilitated. Spaulding had obviously wanted to end it all because he was coming to recognize the wrong of what he was doing. He was not souless, just a lost soul, who, with the right help, could rejoin the world. He should, his lawyer declared, be offered the opportunity to be rehabilitated.  
  
The jury had agreed.  
  
Hiding her anger at his bringing up this aspect of his defense, Samantha said, "And we'd appreciate it if you could help us. It might help you, too, in the long run."  
  
Spaulding turned cool eyes towards her. "Oh, I think I'll be okay without your help, thank you. My psychiatrist assures me I am getting better. I want that. I'm working hard at it, trying to understand what lead me to do all those horrible things."  
  
Moving his eyes back to Jack, his eyes sharpened a moment, then he said, "It was awful, what they say I did, but Dr. Black tells me if I continue making the progress I have been, I'll be back on the streets in a couple of years, a free man again." His smile was cold, and sent a shiver through both the agents. "I am truly grateful we live in such a forgiving society."  
  
"It'd be more forgiving if you told us what we need to know."  
  
"But Jack," Spaulding said, "I keep telling you: I don't remember. And I do not seek forgiveness; to be of value, forgiveness must be freely given." He shrugged. "I don't understand why you're so eager to have the information, anyway. The thrill of not knowing the past is almost as thrilling as not knowing the future, don't you think?" He paused and looked Jack straight in the eye. "Everyone has things in their past they want to keep hidden, right?" he asked. "Things they regret, things they don't want people to know, because it could get them into trouble, or embarrass them, or..." he shrugged, allowing a pause before finishing, "...ruin a relationship." He looked at Samantha, then back at Jack. "I find that exciting, don't you?" He smiled. "And we none of us know the future, though I must admit I enjoy thinking about it. The possibilities are just astonishing, don't you agree?" Cocking his head to one side, he sat back in his chair and regarded Jack with bright eyes. "Who'd have thought we'd be sitting here, talking - you, me-" Looking over at Samantha, he added, "and now her..." His face darkened almost imperceptibly.  
  
Jack abruptly gathered up the photos.  
  
Spaulding made a movement with his hands towards them, his face quickly transforming to one of dismay. Restraining himself with visible effort, he said in a careful tone, "Perhaps if you brought them again, in a month or so...I might remember something then."  
  
Jack rose, knowing no matter what Spaulding's tone, he was lying. He had no intention of ever providing information of any value.  
  
Spaulding looked up at him, his body relaxing. "Jack, don't look like that. I'm beginning to think you wish you'd pulled that trigger... that you wish you'd had the guts." He pursed his lips, and his eyes glittered. "Do you live to regret every decision you make?"  
  
Jack looked down at him wordlessly, then turned and walked towards the door, Samantha following in his wake.  
  
Spaulding watched the two agents leave. As the guard moved towards him to take him back to his room, he murmured, "See you next time..."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
In the car, Jack clenched the steering wheel with both hands. "He might just pull this off."  
  
"He might," Samantha agreed. "Proving someone is crazy or just pretending to be crazy isn't easy when that someone is as smart as he is -but at least for now he's safely tucked away."  
  
Jack frowned and ran a hand over his face tiredly. "He has them fooled. He certainly has himself fooled. I'm sure he thinks he's sane and only pretending to be crazy."  
  
"And he could be released in a year or so," Samantha warned. "The psychiatrist's report says they feel he's well on the way to recovery."  
  
When Jack didn't respond, she looked at him. "You're worried," she said, her voice laced with concern.  
  
"Of course I'm worried," Jack snapped back, his stress abruptly surfacing. He relaxed suddenly. "I'm sorry," he said, "It's not your fault." Knowing Samantha was waiting for more, he finally admitted, "I don't like the fact he's started to notice you. If he's released, and decides to make you a target-"  
  
Samantha placed a hand on his arm. "Jack, don't worry about it. That's the price we pay for what we do. We'll know if and when he's released, and we'll deal with it then."  
  
Jack looked at her a long moment, thinking he couldn't. Not if something happened to her. "I should have shot him when I had the chance," he said. "He's going to be free one day and start all over again."  
  
Recognising the guilt building up inside him, Samantha frowned. "Stop it," she said. "You can't hold yourself accountable for everything, Jack. If he's set free and murders again, it's him, not you, doing it. There is evil out there. You did your best, and you did what was right. Sometimes, no matter what we do, we can't win. This was one of those times, perhaps. It looks as though he's going to get away with murder - lots of them - but we've done everything we can. You did what was right," she insisted once again. "You tracked him down and put him under arrest. You couldn't have done anything else."  
  
He held her eyes a long moment, silently thinking he could have shot him, but then smiled slightly. "I seem to remember your giving me a similar lecture in your apartment, just after the first two murders."  
  
She nodded, the memory returning sharply. "So I did. I was right then, and I'm right now. Trust me."  
  
The stubborn tone of her voice made him smile widen. "Yes, m'am," he drawled softly, thinking he couldn't possibly love anyone more than he did her. He looked at her, thinking in spite of everything he was, in a strange way, blessed. Finally, he sighed and put the keys into the ignition. "Let's go for a coffee."  
  
Samantha sat back and smiled. "Let's," she agreed. Watching as he smoothly backed the car out of its parking spot, she impulsively reached out a hand to stop him before he shifted into forward. He stopped, and turned questioning eyes to meet hers.  
  
"Thank you," she said softly, "for caring."  
  
Emotion caught in his throat. Thanks was the last thing he deserved, but he nodded, knowing she needed him to. His foot firmly on the brake, he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. "Always," he said gruffly, wishing he could say more.  
  
Strangely comforted by telling her that, he removed his hand, turned his attention back to driving, and shifted into drive. Memories of all they had been through since the beginning of this case washed over him: his guilt over what his actions had led to; his talks with Terry; his search for Spaulding, and the way Samantha had become an integral part of his life again. He sighed. Living without her...he couldn't see how it could be done. It would, as she had once said, work out.  
  
It had to.  
  
And for now, no matter the limbo their relationship was in, at least they were together. They still shared these moments, still supported one another, still understood the value of what they had shared and continued to share.  
  
Pressing down slightly on the accelerator, he felt the car move forward. Sometimes, you just had to keep moving. And sometimes, you had to allow yourself the courage to let things happen as they happened...  
  
And to hell with the cost.  
  
End Epilogue The Cost  
  
We can deal with tomorrow, tomorrow; pretend whatever we have to pretend, and move on, 


End file.
